


Forsake

by deanniker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle Earth Setting, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Elf Castiel, Human Dean, Language Kink, M/M, Sexy Times, Top Castiel, Top Dean, a day may come when I do not write an AU, a healthy sprinkling of LOTR, and more sexy times, and now we have feelings too, basically everyone - Freeform, but it is not this day, this day we have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanniker/pseuds/deanniker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the mountains that separate the realms of Gondor and Rohan, the last thing Dean expected was to welcome two elves. But that quickly proves to be the least of his problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quick disclaimer: I am not a Tolkein scholar. I've read the books and I love the movies, but some things will not fit into that perfectly and meticulously planned universe. Such is life.
> 
> This takes place a few years before the movies begin. Hopefully you will not need an intimate knowledge of all Tolkein things to understand. Fingers crossed.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean pulled the reins of his horse irritably. He hated wearing plate, especially on days like this when the sun beat down on them continuously, but Ellen had insisted. 

“Do you think they changed their minds?” He asked.

“Don’t be stupid, Dean.” Sam was standing to his right, beside his own horse, also in full plate. “The elves would not change their minds so suddenly.”

“Well, why are they late?” Dean asked.

Sam ignored him, scanning the horizon calmly. Not for the first time, Dean wished Sam had been born first. Dean was more comfortable on the seat of a horse than a chair, and though Sam was a fierce warrior, he was more at home with events such as this, where diplomacy and patience were called for.

More time passed, and Dean was about to suggest they spar to make the hours shorter when Sam stirred. “I see two riders.”

Dean looked in the direction Sam was pointing, where two figures were approaching fast. He gave himself a quick brush down to rid his armor of dust, and moved forward so that he was a few steps in front of Sam.

The horses cantered towards them gracefully, and when they slowed to a halt before Dean and Sam, the riders dismounted just as gracefully and approached them. One was a woman, with long hair the color of blood. She was wearing sturdy riding clothes, though they still looked elegant. The other was a man, with long hair as dark as night; in contrast to the woman, he was wearing armor, a lighter plate than what Sam and Dean were wearing.

“Greetings,” said Dean. “Lady Ellen welcomes you to her lands, and regrets she could not be here to accompany you herself. I am Dean, Lord of Winchester, and this is my brother and heir, Sam.”

The elves inclined their heads respectfully, and the woman replied, “We thank Lady Ellen for her hospitality, and we thank you for greeting us so graciously in these troubled times. I am Annael of Lothlorien, and my noble companion is Castiel, of the House of Elrond.”

“We are honored that the elves think Lady Ellen’s house worthy of their esteemed company,” Dean answered, the words clumsy in his mouth. He hated courtesies and was ill suited to them, but as the elder and highest of rank, he had to address them for proprieties sake. “Lady Ellen’s seat is a short ride from here, and we will lead you there, unless you would like to rest or retire for the evening.”

Annael smiled. “Our horses may run some ways further before they have need of rest. If you agree, we would sooner finish our journey tonight.”

“As you wish,” Dean replied. He and Sam mounted their horses as the elves did the same, and he began leading them down the road. To his surprise, it was Annael who spurred her horse to ride by his side, leaving Castiel to ride beside Sam. 

Thankfully, the ride did not leave time for speech, as the road was rocky and uneven. There was a reason Ellen sent Sam and himself to greet them at the edges of her borders, because with the light from the sun dimming, it was difficult to pick their way through the mountains. Despite the hazardous conditions, the elves’ horses were swift on the narrow, winding roads, so before long they were in sight of the yellow light spilling from their destination.

Ellen’s seat, the Roadhouse, was a friendly, but modest house. It had surprised Ellen when messengers from the elves came, informing them of their intentions.

When they reached the Roadhouse, they gave their horses to the stables and entered the hall. Ellen and Jo were waiting for them. They had both donned gowns for the occasion, and Dean smirked at the sight of Jo’s sullen face. She had not acquiesced willingly, it was plain to see. 

Schooling his features, he began to speak. “Most honored guests, may I present the Lady Ellen and her daughter, Joanna. My lady, this is Annael of Lothlorien, and Castiel of Rivendell.”

The elves kneeled, and Annael spoke. “On behalf of our realms, we salute you and thank you for your hospitality. We are your humble servants.”

“As we are yours,” said Ellen. “Rise.” The elves stood, and Ellen continued, “My daughter and I are honored that you would visit our modest house. It has been many years since we have had dealings with elves, and I cannot remember if we ever received any of your stature. I am sure that you are here with special intent, but perhaps we could set your business aside and dine first as friends.”

Annael smiled. “Your words are kind. We will be honored to dine with you.”

Ellen stood. “My daughter will show you to your quarters, and once you are ready, we will be waiting in the dining hall.”

The elves swept out, leaving Dean and Sam alone with Ellen. Once Annael and Castiel were out of sight, Ellen relaxed into her normal bearing. “Did you boys get any indication as to why they are here?”

“No,” Sam replied. “We only exchanged courtesies.”

Ellen sighed. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough. For now lets enjoy ourselves. Change into your best clothes and meet us for dinner.” She caught Dean looking pained and added, “Don’t even contemplate showing up in your typical attire, Dean. Jo will have my head if I force her to wear a dress and allow you to wear whatever you want.” She stalked off out of the hall before Dean could argue. If there was anything he hated worse than plate armor, it was fancy clothing, but he couldn’t argue with Ellen.

Dinner was a simple affair. The elves ate only a little, and Dean and the rest of Ellen's household ate quickly, as though to get it over and done with, so that they might hear why the elves had come. When everyone had eaten their fill, they retired to the main hall.

While they were at dinner, servants had set up a long table, so that they might talk more comfortably. Ellen sat at the head, of course. To her right sat Jo, and on her left Annael took her seat. Castiel sat beside Annael, and Dean sat next to Jo, exactly opposite the male elf. Dean heard Sam sigh lightly to his right, and knew Sam wished there was one less person, so that he might not be so left out.

Once they were all seated and the servants had left – all except Ash, who despite being common born was one of Ellen most trusted advisors – Ellen spoke. “Forgive me for my bluntness, but I have little patience for empty words when my curiosity is so strong. Why are you here?”

Annael laughed, though Castiel remained silent. “I appreciate your honesty, my lady. My kinsman and I have come because threats have been growing as of late. Some fifty years past, the White Council forced a Necromancer out of the old fortress in Mirkwood.”

“We have heard of this,” Ellen admitted. “But there have been many dark wizards over the years, and we in the White Mountains have always weathered them.”

“Did you hear that this Necromancer fled to the lands of Mordor?” Castiel asked, leaning forward to command everyone’s attention. His voice was much deeper than Dean had expected, and when he uttered the name of that cursed land Dean felt a cold shudder in his spine. “Elrond, my noble father, believes this Necromancer to be none other than Sauron himself.”

A silence fell at these words. For a moment no one dared speak. Then Annael laid a hand on Castiel’s arm. “There is no proof of this, Castiel,” she admonished. Castiel bowed his head, leaning back into his chair. “Though I will not deny that the belief of Elrond is a powerful thing.” She looked around at them all. “We have been sent here because your lands are at a crucial juncture between the realms of Gondor and Rohan. Should enemy forces gather and move, it is possible that they will use your domain to avoid detection by Minas Tirith and Edoras.”

“I see,” Ellen said. “What do you want from us, specifically? Our lands are yours, of course, though you may find our resources poor compared to some.”

“We are most grateful,” Annael replied. “I am to visit other households among the mountains, but before I leave, I would like to look through your records.”

“Done,” Ellen replied. “What of you, Castiel?”

Annael answered for him, which everyone was surprised by, judging from the sudden hush. Though it was clear that she took the lead, speaking for him when he was asked a direct question was indicative of a much higher rank, and Dean wondered who Annael was, if she could override the son of Elrond so authoritatively. “My cousin is to remain here for the time being. He is a skilled warrior, and should dark forces move through your lands, he can be of great use to you.”

Dean bristled a little at this – he was the leader of Ellen’s army, such as it was, and he didn’t like the implication that they needed help. Ellen shot him a warning look, and Jo kicked him under the table, so he kept his mouth shut. “We would be honored with Castiel’s presence,” Ellen said graciously. 

The elves retired to their chambers soon after their conversation ended, and Ellen and Sam went to the library to make sure the records were in order before they handed them over to Annael. Dean walked Jo back to her room, grouching all the way. “He can be of great use to you,” he grumbled. “As though we need help.”

“Oh shut it, Dean,” Jo snapped, tugging at her dress angrily. “You’re just angry because Castiel might be a better warrior than you.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right. He’s shorter than me, _and_ skinnier. I could squash him like a bug.”

It was Jo’s turn to snort. “You remember that he’s an elf, right? They’ve got better agility and balance and other stuff too, I’m sure. Plus, he’s probably three hundred years old so he’ll have more experience too.”

They’d reached her door; Dean made a face at her and left her there. The infuriating thing about Jo was that she was nearly always right.

The next day, Sam and Ellen accompanied the elves to the library to help them search through the records while Dean and Jo went over their rosters. They didn’t know what Castiel would want to do, so they drew up new schedules and contingencies in case he wasn’t amenable, and made sure his horse and armor were given a more permanent space in the stables.

One day later, everyone rose early to see Annael off. She and Castiel embraced, and then she leapt onto her horse and with a last farewell rode out. Ellen, Jo, and Sam left to attend to their business, but Castiel stayed until Annael could no longer be seen. When he turned, he seemed almost surprised to see Dean. “Lord Winchester,” he said looking around. “Forgive me, where is the Lady Ellen? I hope I did not give offense.”

“They had duties to attend to,” Dean replied, “Unfortunately, the governing of a household waits for no one.” 

“And what of you?” Castiel asked. “Do you not have duties to perform as well?”

“Right now, you are my duty,” Dean replied shortly. He was sure Castiel didn’t mean to sound like he was disparaging Dean, but he did. “I am in charge of the Roadhouse’s warriors. Would you like a tour of our defenses?”

“Yes, thank you,” Castiel replied, and fell into step beside Dean.

Dean walked him around the outer walls, and showed him the mechanics of the gate. He also showed him the armory and stables. Throughout their tour, Castiel listened attentively and spoke very little, but when they reached the yard, where the archers were practicing, he slowed. “Is that…?”

“Lady Joanna?” Dean laughed. “Right in one.” Jo was drilling the archers, back in her typical attire. It looked like she was taking her frustrations of having to wear a dress for two days out on her men.

“Forgive me, but,” Castiel hesitated. “Is this not extremely atypical? I had thought that humans rarely encourage their women to take up arms.”

Dean shrugged. “These lands are an isolated domain with a small population. Once it became clear that Jo was going to be an only child, her parents said it would be a shame if their only heir couldn’t defend herself simply because she was a girl. Jo took to it well.”

“She has a fierce spirit,” Castiel observed, as they watched her berate a man who stood taller than her by at least a foot.

“She is a fierce warrior also,” Dean said, “Though she excels only with archery on account of her size.” He looked at Castiel questioningly. “Would you like to join them?” He asked. “I noticed that you carry no bow, but we have many here, if you would like to take one.”

“I am not overly skilled at archery,” Castiel replied, “But I would like to retain what abilities I do have.”

“All right,” said Dean. “I’ll join you. It’s been a long time since I shot at something that wasn’t moving.”

Jo was more than happy to let them join, and two more targets were quickly set up. Dean watched Castiel curiously, as did most of the other archers. Jo scolded them, but her heart wasn’t in it. 

Castiel had immaculate form, and he bent the large bow seemingly effortlessly. However, he missed the center of the target by a good three inches. He frowned and redrew. His next attempt was better, though it too didn’t strike the smallest circle. Dean drew his own bow and released his arrow. His struck the very outside of the smallest circle, and he looked at Castiel to see his reaction. The elf looked impassive, and loosed his next arrow. This time his shot hit the smallest circle, and Dean gave up trying to compete and just started practicing. Castiel seemed to do the same. When they were both finished, their targets looked very similar. It seemed they were quite evenly matched; both good archers who lacked the precision of someone like Jo, who could shoot the wings off a butterfly with her eyes closed. Dean knew he shouldn’t be happy that Castiel hadn’t outshot him, but he was.

Once they’d returned their bows to the armory, they took a midday meal, and Dean explained to him the general format of how the warriors operated. Small groups, usually only consisting of two people, roamed between the mountain towns and through the forests keeping an eye out for danger. The pairs were responsible for their own food supply, and generally speaking they lived rough. The roaming parties didn’t last long – usually only for a few weeks at a time. Dean watched Castiel carefully. He couldn’t imagine an elf willingly sleeping on the ground for long amounts of time, but Castiel gave no indication that he found the idea uncomfortable, so Dean suggested that Castiel join in the roaming parties. 

“That seems an excellent idea,” Castiel replied. “I would like to learn these lands as well as possible.” 

“I thought you would say that,” said Dean. “We’re scheduled to leave in two days, though in reality we can head out at any time. Do you think you will be ready by then?”

Castiel cocked his head at him. “You are accompanying me?”

“You need someone who really knows where they’re going. These mountains can be perilous.”

“You aren’t needed here?” Castiel asked. “In case the Roadhouse is attacked?”

Dean laughed. “The Roadhouse hasn’t been attacked in ages. Besides, Jo’s in charge of the archers, and Sam could lead the warriors if it came to that.”

“I would have thought that as lord of your own keep, you would keep in relative safety.”

“Yes, well, I like the woods better than I like castles,” Dean said shortly, and steered the conversation away from himself by advising Castiel on what sort of weather they could expect.

They set out two days later, with not much besides their armor. Dean was back in chain mail and leather, his preferred gear, and Castiel was also in chain mail, though his shone brightly, almost like gemstones.

They both took bow and arrows with them, for hunting. Dean brought some jerky and cakes along, but they wouldn’t be enough to sustain them for their entire roaming. Dean went first, leading them onto a road that led them to one of the more removed villages in the area. It had been a long time since a roaming party had checked to see that all was well. Once the road widened, Castiel moved up next to him.

Dean looked at the elf from the corner of his eye. His seat was sure, and he grasped his bow easily. He was looking at the surroundings with apparent interest. As Dean watched him, he noticed something was missing. “Um, Castiel? I think you forgot your sword.”

“I don’t fight with a sword,” Castiel replied easily.

Dean looked him over. He couldn’t see any weapons besides the bow. “No offense, but you aren’t that good a shot.”

Castiel looked at him. Dean could swear he saw pity in his gaze. “You don’t need to worry about me, Lord Winchester.” 

Dean knew a blade would be far more useful in forests such as these, but he let it go. “Please don’t call me Lord Winchester. My name is Dean.”

“Very well.” Dean rolled his eyes at the lackluster response. Castiel was so mildly agreeable that it was starting to annoy him.

It would take at least three days to ride to the village, so they spent the night in the woods. Dean went hunting while Castiel stayed to make camp. When Dean returned with three rabbits, there was a fire waiting and Castiel had cleared away most of the brush. They roasted the rabbits over the fire, and Dean was not surprised to see that Castiel ate just as gracefully with his hands as he did with Ellen’s heavy cutlery.

It was strange seeing Castiel crawl into a bedroll – for some reason he always thought elves didn’t sleep, just wandered around politely all night. But Castiel closed his eyes the same as any man.

The next morning, they ate what was leftover from the rabbits and started out again. The day passed in much the same way the first day had, but when they stopped at night, Castiel was the one who offered to do the hunting. He was about to leave when Dean realized something.

“Wait,” he called. “Your mail.”

Castiel looked down at his chest. His mail gleamed in the setting sun, and Dean knew any stealth Castiel might possess would be lost with a beacon like that.

“Of course,” Castiel said, and reached into his pack to find a dark shirt. He pulled it over his mail and nodded once to Dean before heading off.

Castiel brought back a rabbit and a bird. Though there was not as much meat as last night, Dean was used to eating less food than this on a roaming, and he didn’t complain.

The next day, shortly after they started out again, Dean halted his horse. Dismounting, he examined the road. Coming from the forest to the left were tracks. A group of at least six had passed by here, and Dean thought they looked like goblin prints. He was about to stand when Castiel said his name quietly.

Looking up, he saw that Castiel, still astride his horse, had nocked an arrow. It was pointed at a group of eight goblins. They were well equipped, but without bows, Dean was relieved to see. At this range, an arrow would punch straight through his armor.

Eight was still a large number, and Dean was already on the ground. He glanced at Castiel, hoping that he was as skilled a fighter as Annael had claimed.

The goblins had obviously been taken by surprise by their appearance, but they recovered and charged, screaming. Castiel loosed his arrow, hitting one of the goblins in the chest, and drew another, this time finding a goblin’s throat. Dean drew his sword, and then they were upon him. 

It had been a long time since he had fought so many. He used great swings of his sword, trying to intimidate them, and it worked. Two of the goblins stumbled back, and he used his momentum to behead one who had not been so quick. Three of the goblins broke to his left, probably to attack Castiel, and Dean pursued the other two. They rallied quickly, but their bodies were easy to read, and he had no trouble blocking their blades before attacking. Soon enough, he killed both of them. He turned quickly to look for Castiel.

The elf was on the ground, and Dean could see why. He had a blade in his hand, though it was too short to be used on horseback. He had already killed one goblin, and the other two were circling him. Snarling, they both rushed him at the same time, swords held high, but before Dean could run to his aid, Castiel moved impossibly fast, hitting one of them on the head with the back end of his blade before stabbing the other in the chest.

Dean gaped. It was almost as if Castiel hadn’t had to move any muscles to change position – he had just thought it and been somewhere else. While Dean watched, Castiel slid the blade back up his sleeve. He must have had it holstered to him all along.

“You are a skilled fighter,” Castiel said. 

“And you,” Dean replied, finally getting a hold of himself. “I’ve never seen someone move that fast.”

Castiel gave him a small smile. “Thank you. What would you like to do with this filth?” He gestured to the goblins, a terrible look upon his face. Dean was reminded that elves hated goblins more than any other creature.

“Burn them,” Dean answered. “Did you kill the one you hit with the back end of your weapon?”

Castiel bent to check. “Yes.”

Dean nodded. “Very well. Looks like we’re going to have to find out what they were doing by looking instead of asking. Lets gather wood for a fire.”

As they built the fire, piling on plenty of green wood, he explained, “We have a system. A lookout stationed at the Roadhouse constantly scans for smoke. We only use green wood if we are burning corpses, so smoke in the sky usually means trouble. It’s a good way to get a bit of information back to the Roadhouse.”

“That’s very wise,” Castiel said, “Did you institute that policy?”

“Sam suggested it, actually. He was the one who realized you can see nearly all of Ellen’s land from the Roadhouse.” 

“I see. I have only met your brother briefly, but he seemed to possess a high intelligence.” 

Dean couldn’t keep pride from his voice. “Yes, he’s very smart. Good with numbers, letters, anything really. It makes him invaluable to Ellen.” He watched the smoke for a few minutes, and then looked down the road in the direction of the village. “Come on,” he said to Castiel. “If we hurry we might reach the village by nightfall.”

When they reached the village, it was clear that they need not have hurried. The entire village was slain. It was a small village, but they had put up a fight – there were four goblins among the dead as well. Dean and Castiel wandered through the houses, looking for anyone that might still be alive. There were none.

Castiel was silent, but there was grief etched upon his features. Dean sighed and walked to their horses. “We’ll honor them tomorrow. For tonight, we camp away from this place.”

Castiel offered to go hunting again, but Dean didn’t think it was wise. “Maybe there are no more goblins lurking, but we shouldn’t separate, anyway. I packed some food, so we don’t need to worry about provisions for a while.”

Castiel nodded and began unpacking. “Perhaps we should forgo a fire tonight, as well.”

Dean disliked being cold more than he disliked an empty stomach, but he agreed. This close to the road and the village, it was better to be safe.

After they’d eaten, they prepared for sleep, but Dean couldn’t stop thinking. In all his years spent roaming Ellen’s lands, a village had never been destroyed. It had happened before, long ago. Sam had found mention of it in a book somewhere, but never in living memory.

He was distracted from his thoughts by Castiel, who was shifting inside his bedroll. “Lord Winchester?”

“Yes?”

“Forgive me, but… what does this mean for your own lands? You said Sam was your heir – do you have another brother who holds your lands for you?”

“No,” Dean said quietly. “There’s a distant relative of mine, Bobby. An uncle to Sam and me in all but blood. He keeps the seat for us while we’re away.”

“But your people…?”

Dean rolled over to look at him. Castiel’s eyes glinted even in the darkness, but Dean detected no malice, only curiosity. “Our lands are even less populated and more removed than Ellen’s. The people gather in our hold for winter, but besides that they stick to their farmland. Sam or I go back every winter.”

“I see.”

When it seemed like nothing else was forthcoming, Dean rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

“But why do you leave at all?” Castiel asked. Dean stifled a groan. “I cannot imagine wanting to leave my home to live in someone else’s.”

Dean sighed. He didn’t want to talk about the painful memories of that place, which outnumbered the good ones. He loved his people, he loved Bobby, and he hated the location. Instead, he spoke another truth. “Technically speaking, we mountain lords swear fealty to Rohan. But the Rohirrim never venture into our mountains, not even if we call for aid. I don’t blame them, because their horses and weapons don’t work well in our forests. We pay negligible taxes. If Theoden called us to war, we might go, but only if Ellen demanded it. She is our true queen.”

“I see.” Dean waited, and Castiel spoke again. “Lord Winchester…”

This time Dean did not stifle his groan. “Castiel, we’re going to have a long day tomorrow. We can talk then, right?”

“Of course.” Castiel sounded embarrassed. “My apologies, I was merely curious. Good night.”

“Good night,” Dean echoed, and tried to sleep.  

The next morning, they piled all of the corpses of the villagers into a pyre and burned them. Castiel blessed them all in elvish before Dean set the torch to the pile. Then, grimly, he reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a handful of powder. He threw it onto the flames, and the smoke that rose was fiery red. “A relic,” Dean said to Castiel, who was looking at him curiously. “Red smoke means a dead village. It hasn’t been used in my lifetime.” 

Castiel nodded. “Where to next?” 

“Let’s follow the trail of the goblins, see if we can’t figure out where they came from or where they’re going.” They mounted quickly and rode down the road. 

Once they reached the place where the goblins had broken out onto the rode, they turned their horses off the trail, with Dean leading the way.

Castiel called up to him, “Are there more villages in this direction?” 

“Yes,” Dean replied, and urged his horse onward.

The goblins had taken a meandering route through the trees. Their trail twisted and turned until Dean almost came to believe that they had been lost. Their number meant they had some purpose, whether it was simply to slay the villagers or something darker.

They came across another goblin, who had succumbed to wounds and been left for dead. “Should we burn this one too?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Dean replied. “We’ve sent up red smoke, they need no more warning than that. We can’t afford to lose the time.”

That night, they went without fresh food again. As they chewed the jerky, Dean said, “Sorry that your first roaming is turning out so awful. It’s not usually this bad. Looks like you and Annael were right to come.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Who is she, anyway?” Dean asked. “I mean, you said you were Elrond’s son, but she is clearly your superior.”

Castiel sighed. “I am the youngest son of Elrond, and at the time of my birth, he was more interested in my sister, his only daughter. Annael is the first born of Celbedil, the great elf-lord of Lothlorien. She is also much older than me, and wiser.”

Dean nodded.

They ate in silence for a spell, and then Castiel asked a question. “How long shall we follow the goblin’s trail?”

Dean sighed, and looked at his supplies. “Unless we start hunting again, we’ll have to turn back soon. I never pack very much.” 

“I have provisions,” Castiel offered. “If we run out of your stock mine should sustain us for several days.” 

Dean looked at Castiel’s saddlebags. They were small, and practically empty. Whatever Castiel had, it couldn’t be much. “We’ll see,” he answered. “Depending on what we find, we may ride back early anyway.” 

The next day, they found two more slaughtered villages. In each, they constructed a pyre and sent red smoke up. Dean was tempted to ride directly for the Roadhouse from the second village, but he decided to keep following the trail. It was imperative that they discover where the goblins had come from.

On the tenth day of the roaming, they came across a goblin scout. Dean shot him quickly before he could raise the alarm. They picketed their horses and crept through the woods on foot.

Once they crested a rise, they saw a goblin encampment. There were at least thirty goblins, and Dean knew there were probably other scouts and lookouts in the surrounding woods. Dean was disappointed to see that this group had bows and arrows with them. It would make them more vulnerable. He motioned for Castiel to back away, and once they were out of sight, he said, “Let’s grab our weapons and camp in some trees for the night. Come daybreak, we’ll shoot them.”

They picked two different trees that were within shooting distance of the goblin camp. Dean tied himself to the trunk. It was one of the more uncomfortable nights he had spent, but it would be worth the element of surprise come morning. 

Dean woke before dawn, and after making sure his blood was circulating properly, untied himself. He couldn’t hear Castiel moving in the other tree, but he trusted that the elf would be ready come sunrise.

The sky started to lighten. Dean could see the outline of the goblin camp, but not well enough to shoot. They wanted to kill as many as they could as quietly as possible. Dean heard a bow being drawn. He looked over to see Castiel taking aim, and then he loosed an arrow. Dean had heard that elves had advanced eyesight. He resumed scanning the camp. Soon he would be able to take aim as well.

Castiel had fired four shots before Dean took his first one, claiming a goblin in the head. They chose their targets carefully, trying to be as accurate as possible to kill the goblins immediately. 

It was only a matter of time before the goblins realized what was happening. One of the goblins shouted, and before long, the whole camp was in an uproar. Dean began firing more rapidly.

The goblins figured out where the shots were coming from, and with a roar they started charging up the hillside. A few picked up bow and arrows and started firing indiscriminately into the trees. One of them dipped his arrows into the fire and shot in their direction. By an unlucky coincidence, one of them hit Castiel’s tree, which started to burn rapidly.

Castiel fired a few more shots, then slung his bow over his shoulder and walked out along his branch. When his blade slid into his hand, Dean cursed, but stayed where he was. He could protect Castiel better from a high vantage point, and at this range, he could fire accurately enough to be sure of hitting only goblins.

They’d killed or injured at least fifteen, but that left almost twice the number they’d faced earlier in the roaming.

The goblins had reached their trees. Dean shot one in the skull before Castiel leapt down. He seemed to float through the air, and before the goblins knew what was happening, he had stabbed two of them. Dean shot two more as they tried to rush Castiel, and he was just reaching back for another arrow when he saw one of the goblins notice him. He tried to kill it, but it was already loosing an arrow before he could get his shot off.

The arrow from the goblin caught him squarely in the gut, and knocked him out of the tree. He grabbed at the branches on his way down to slow his fall, but it helped little, and he landed flat on his back. The wind was knocked out of him, and he risked a glance down at his stomach. The arrow had pierced his chain mail, and blood was already starting to spread across his stomach. With a groan, he staggered to his feet.

The goblins were rushing at him, and he braced himself and drew his sword. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten shot, but he feared it would be the last. 

The goblins obviously thought he was easy prey by the way they attacked, and Dean slew two of them when they ran at him too eagerly. He was slower than usual, though; the arrow was already taking its toll, and he knew it was only a matter of time before one of them finished him off.

He killed another one when it fell, driving his sword deep into its chest, but he knew that was the last one. He wouldn’t be able to pull his sword up and out in time to block the next strike. He could see which goblin would do it, too. Its mouth was open and snarling, and as he watched it raised its sword high.

Suddenly, Castiel was there, blocking the sword with his blade before driving it up into the goblins jaw. With the extra time that gave him, Dean managed to get his sword up to block the next blow aimed at him. He saw Castiel hold his hand up to his mouth and let a shrill whistle, and then he pushed Dean back and took up a defensive stance. Dean would have argued about being so aggressively protected, but the world was tilting and it was taking a lot of willpower just to keep upright. He used his brief respite to snap the arrow in half so that he looked less like a pincushion, and then Castiel’s horse was in front of him. Castiel leapt into the saddle, and reached down to pull Dean up behind him. They moved away quickly.

When they reached the spot where they had left the horses, Castiel helped him onto the back of his. Before Dean grabbed the reins, Castiel glanced at his wound briefly before frowning and mounting himself.

Castiel took the lead, leading them back through the woods. When they reached a stream, Castiel dismounted and rooted around in his saddlebags while he let his horse drink. Dean dismounted as well, and stumbled a little when his legs hit the ground. He slid down the trunk of a tree and drank some of his water.

Castiel knelt down next to him, holding a map. “We’ll reach one of the roads in a few hours. Which one is it?”

Dean pointed out a spot on the map. “We’ll come onto it around there.”

“Is this this fastest way to the Roadhouse?” Castiel’s finger traced a route.

“No,” Dean replied. He traced another route, trying not to notice how much his finger was shaking. “Some of the roads are in terrible shape.”

“How long?” Castiel asked.

“Three days,” Dean replied. “Maybe shorter if we push the horses.”

Castiel glanced at Dean’s stomach and Dean tried to ignore that. “Too long. Is there somewhere else we can shelter?”

Dean shook his head. “Not unless we go to one of the villages.”

“No. The goblins might go there.” Castiel shook the map in front of him. “A watchtower. An old farmstead. _Anything._ ”

Dean thought hard. “There,” he said, pointing at a spot on the map. “Ruins, left over from the First Age. A day and a half.”

Castiel nodded. “It will serve.” He pulled Dean to his feet and led him to his horse.

Dean could feel himself growing weaker, but he pulled himself into his saddle on his own. They started along the trail.

When they reached the road, they picked up the pace, which caused more blood to leak out around the arrow. Dean said nothing though, just gritted his teeth and urged his horse onward.

At some point, he opened his eyes to see Castiel leaning over him, frowning. He was lying on the road. It looked like he had fallen off his horse. Castiel helped him sit up, and gave him some water. Dean took it gratefully, and spilled half of it down his front before getting some in his mouth. His hands were shaking. It revitalized him a bit, enough to make him realize he was probably going to die. He told Castiel this, and his frown deepened. He pulled Dean to his feet and led him to his horse. He pushed Dean into the saddle before climbing up behind him.

“You need to stay awake, Dean,” he said as he kicked the horse.

Dean tried. He really did, but once the sun went down he had a hard time of it. Castiel kept having to shake him awake. On the third time this happened, he realized the elf was speaking to him. “Whazzat?” He asked blearily.

“I said, you need to stay awake.”

“Can’t. ‘M _tired._ ‘S nighttime. Time for sleeping.”

Castiel sighed into his ear. Dean shivered. Some part of him realized that he was babbling like an idiot, but he couln’t muster up the energy to care. “No energy,” he mumbled. “All gone.”

He felt Castiel rummaging around in his saddlebags. Castiel held something up to his mouth. “Eat this.”

Dean did. It tasted good. “’S good, Cas.”

Castiel looked at him quizzically. “Cas?” He asked.

Dean waved a hand airily. “Name too long. ‘M sick. Can’t do it.”

“I understand. Try to stay awake.”

Dean sighed. So much effort. “Can’t. Dark. Boring.”

“Talk to me,” Castiel murmured.

“Sure.” Great idea. Dean struggled to think of something. “What about?”

“Anything. Why do you keep your hair short?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Dad had it short. Never liked dealing with it.” He waved a hand. “Wind. Dirt. Gross.” He reached back and grabbed a strand of Castiel’s hair. “Yours is nice. Soft.” He gave it a tug. 

“Please do not do that.” Castiel sounded very put upon. Dean giggled and tugged it again before letting go.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. He talked nonsense the whole time, becoming less and less aware of what was coming out of his mouth. They stopped briefly to switch horses, and rode until the sky started to lighten. By the time they reached the ruins, Dean had no idea what he was saying. When Castiel slid him off the horse’s back, he twisted and the arrow dug deeper into his side. He passed out.

*

When he came to, he was alone. Just the fact that he was awake was shocking, and for a moment, he just laid there, basking in the sound of his own breathing. He looked around.

He was in the ruins. Their horses were grazing nearby, but there was no sign of Castiel. Dean felt exposed, but there was nothing he could do about it. The pain in his stomach was gone, but he didn't have time to contemplate that before he heard a rustling in the bushes. His weapons were out of his reach, and he could only hope that it was Castiel and not a band of goblins.

It was Castiel, carrying a brace of rabbits. When he saw Dean, he rushed to his side. “Do you feel all right?”

Dean nodded. “How long have I been out?” His voice was raspy from disuse, and judging by the grumbling in his stomach, it had been awhile.

“Two days,” Castiel answered, helping Dean sit up. He gave Dean some water, and Dean gulped it down. “The arrow was tipped with poison.” That explained his quick descent into infirmity.

Dean laid a hand on his wound. “The hell?” He asked. It felt almost completely healed. He lifted his shirt, and there was nothing there. No blood, no bandages, and most impressively, no gaping hole, just a mass newly formed scar tissue. “The hell?” He repeated. “Two days?”

Castiel nodded, running his fingers lightly over the scar. “It was difficult to heal.”

“Man, you are good.” Dean said. “No way should I be alive right now. Thanks.”

“Of course,” said Castiel. He stood. “You should be recovered by tomorrow. We can make our way back to the Roadhouse then.”

Dean shook his head. “No. We have to keep going. We won’t be doing anyone any good by going back to the Roadhouse with partial information.”

Castiel frowned at him. Dean was starting to believe that was the only expression besides politeness that Castiel could manage. “You were shot.”

“And you healed me,” Dean pointed out. “I’ll be fine once I get a bit of food in me.” Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Dean cut him off. “Are you going to cook those rabbits, or am I going to have to?”

Once they’d eaten, Castiel began to argue again. “I healed your wound, but you need rest. Your health…”

“Is not more important than the welfare of these lands. I don’t think goblins have ever moved in such large numbers. We _need_ to find out what they are doing.” Dean did not leave room for more discussion, and Castiel began setting up his bedroll with quick, angry movements. Dean sighed and leaned back, wondering how the world had come to this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

The next day, Dean led them towards another village, away from the Roadhouse. He could feel disapproval emanating from Castiel, but with his wound so well healed, it was an easy decision to make.

When they finally came in sight of the village, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. It was still intact, and the villagers were waiting for them with spears. One of them recognized him, and ordered the others to lower their weapons.

“My lord Winchester,” the leader called, “We saw red smoke.”

Dean nodded grimly. “You are the first untouched village we have come across.” He dismounted, and Castiel did the same. “Is there some place we might talk?”

The chief led them to his house, and over a mug of ale, Dean explained about the goblins and the burned villages. “I would recommend leaving. Come to the Roadhouse. We can shelter you there.”

“Perhaps, but can you feed us?” The leader asked. “The harvest is not in. We cannot abandon our crops.”

“Your crops will not feed you if you are dead,” Dean said bluntly. “Your village is larger than the ones we came across, but these goblins are fierce, and trained for battle. Send your elderly and children, at least. Those who aren’t needed.”

“And who will protect them on the road? Here we are armed. We’ve been warned. We can protect ourselves. Do you even know if there are other goblins?”

Dean sighed. “No,” he admitted.

“Then I’m sorry, but we will not leave our homes.” The leader stood, signaling that the conversation was over. Dean warned him to stay alert, and then they rode off.

Castiel was silent as they put the village behind them. Dean glanced at him, and asked, “What’s wrong, Cas?” 

Castiel looked at him strangely at the continued use of his shortened name, but Dean couldn’t be bothered. Castiel was a mouthful, and ill-suited to a human tongue. “How can we just abandon them? We should have insisted – “ 

“Insisted on what, Cas? That they leave their homes, their crops, and their livelihoods? The people of these lands are stubborn, and what they said about us feeding them is true. We _don’t_ have the supplies to feed everyone.” 

The next day, they came upon two more villages. The first was still intact, and Dean gave them the same warning, but the second was just as burned as the others they’d found. Dean sent up red smoke, and that night he spread out the maps. He marked the burned villages with soot and tried to find a pattern. The goblins were coming from the east, seemingly headed through the mountains toward the west.

“Do you have a guess as to where these goblins might be coming from?” He asked Castiel.

“I would guess the Misty Mountains,” Castiel answered. “Their armor is similar to goblins that are seen near my fathers lands.

Dean traced the path the goblins were taking, if that were true. If they wanted to enter Gondor, they would do better to continue around the western edge of the mountains. Ellen’s domain was too far east for that to make sense. And if they wanted to pillage Rohan, all they needed to do was cross west through the Gap of Rohan, unless the mountain lands were their goal, which was unlikely. Dean’s eyes strayed to Mordor, and he shook his head. There was no use dwelling on horrors of the past.

“We’ll head back tomorrow,” Dean decided. “I need to assign roamers to villages to protect them, and I doubt there’s much we could learn, unless we get lucky enough to stumble across another group of goblins.”

“I agree,” Castiel nodded. “I’ve learned much more than I anticipated. If Annael comes back, I need to talk to her.”

The next day, they started in the direction of the Roadhouse. Before long, they came across a group of goblin tracks headed in the same direction. Dean reined up, appalled. “How many, do you think?” he asked.

“A great host,” Castiel answered. “A company of goblins from the Misty Mountains is typically a group of fifty.”

Dean swore and kicked his horse into a gallop, risky on the narrow roads but necessary. He gave mental thanks that Castiel was such a skilled rider, for it would have been near impossible to keep such a pace with any other.

It took them two and a half days to reach the Roadhouse. When Dean saw it, he cursed. Castiel stopped beside him, face grave.

The castle was besieged. Dean guessed that there were at least a hundred goblins surrounding the walls, armed to the teeth. Enough to leave no breaks around the entire length of the wall. Dean wheeled his horse around quickly before they could be seen.

When they were out of sight of the Roadhouse and the goblin armies, Dean stopped. “I’ve never dealt with a siege before,” Dean admitted. “You?”

“No.”

“Our good fortune,” Dean said. He dismounted and led his horse through the trees until they were well out of sight of the road. “What should we do?” he asked.

Castiel looked at him sadly. “These are your lands, not mine, Lord Winchester. And I myself do not know. I am a warrior, trained for combat, not for strategy.”

Dean crouched down and pulled out his maps. “The siege must be broken,” he said. “The harvest is drawing near, and once the villages have collected their crops, they will journey to the Roadhouse. We could warn them to stay away and direct them to other holds, but if winter comes with no crops those inside the Roadhouse will starve.”

“You could call for aid,” Castiel offered. “I have heard the Rohirrim are a formidable force.”

“They are,” Dean replied wryly. “On the plains, where they can spread out and cut their enemies down in a charge. They have no idea how to maneuver in the trees. No. We must deal with this on our own.”

“As you wish,” Castiel replied. “What do you suggest?”

“Their force is not large,” Dean said, speaking slowly as a plan began to form in his mind. “And the forces inside the Roadhouse would be more than capable of cutting them down, if they had the opportunity and the goblins were taken by surprise.”

“You propose attacking them.” Castiel stated.

“Disorienting them,” Dean countered. “We only need to keep their eyes away from the main gate long enough for my brother to ride out without being killed immediately. If we caused pandemonium, Sam can do the rest.”

“It is a risky plan,” Castiel said.

Dean observed him carefully. The elf’s brow was creased into a frown, lips pursed in thought. “I do not ask you to go with me,” Dean said. “As you say, it is risky, and if you do not want to risk your life for a strange land I will not think any less of you for it. You should return to your own people.”

“I was sent to help you protect these lands, Lord Winchester,” Castiel said. “If this is the way you will proceed, I shall join you.”

“Very well,” Dean said. “I suggest riding into their midst at dusk, when the sun will be at our backs, as near to the gate as we can. That is the place likeliest to have a watch posted, and when Sam rides out we can slip into their ranks for protection.”

They made their way slowly to the tree line before the Roadhouse, moving until they were placed almost directly in front of the gate. Then they waited for the sun to lower in the sky. When he deemed the time had come, Dean kicked his horse into a gallop, yelling a war cry.

Together, they cut a swath through the goblins, drawing their horses up near the gate but not directly in front of it. For a breathless moment, it seemed like they were victorious, for the goblins looked around fearfully and drew back. After a slight pause however, they rushed as one. Dean drew his sword, and from the corner of his eye he saw Castiel slip from his horse.

Dean was good at fighting from a horse. He knew when to cut, when to stab, and he knew how to protect himself and keep aware of the movements around him. Assuming no one tried to cut the legs out from under his horse, he would be able to continue this for a long time.

With one final thrust, he slew the last goblin that had rushed him. There were others waiting a short distance away, but he had a respite. He took the opportunity to look for Castiel.

The elf was on the ground, as he must be to use his weapon, and he was holding his own. They had drifted apart, but Castiel’s back was still protected by his horse. He would be all right for as long as it took the riders to come from the castle.

Only, no one was coming. The Roadhouse didn’t have a moat, but it did have a deep ditch dug before the gate, one that required a drawbridge to cross. But the wooden door stayed upright. Dean felt a keen sense of foreboding. “Castiel,” he shouted.

He heard a snarl to his left and realized that the goblins circling him had rushed. He hacked out around him, cutting them down, trying to direct his horse toward where Castiel was holding his ground. He had succeeded in closing some of the distance when he heard the scream of a horse.

One of the goblins had slashed at the legs of Castiel’s horse. It reared up, kicking out with its legs and catching Castiel in the back. The elf dropped to the ground, and Dean watched with horror as his blade sailed through the air. “Cas!” he shouted.

“Go!” Castiel shouted, still on his knees. With one last look, Dean wheeled his horse around and forced his way back to the trees. When he turned, he saw Castiel disappear beneath a horde of goblins. He had little choice but to put more distance between him and the camp as he saw a group of goblins begin to pursue him. They gave up the chase as soon as he disappeared into the woods, and he risked creeping closer to observe what he could.

The sun began to set behind the mountains. His vision was poor in the failing light, but the last of it reflected off of Castiel’s mail, making him easy to find. Dean thought he could see bonds around Castiel’s hands and feet as he was dragged through the goblin camp. He was finally taken from Dean’s sight when they pulled him into a tent. Dean sighed and leaned back.

Goblins would not bind a corpse. Castiel was still alive, and if they hadn’t killed him already they wouldn’t any time soon. They would torture him first, for information or sport. Dean eyed the Roadhouse. If they had not ridden to their aid when it was advantageous, Dean had no doubt that they would stay hunkered behind their doors. He spared a minute to wonder what had befallen his friends. He’d thought they would seize the moment, and since they hadn’t something must be seriously wrong.

He forced himself back to the matter of hand. Whatever the reason, he was the only one he could count on. And he could not abandon Castiel to the goblins. The elf would not be in their hands if Dean hadn’t insisted on being reckless, so it was only just that Dean be reckless on his behalf. He retreated further into the forest and began to think.

His plan would work best in daylight, so when the sun peaked over the top of the mountains, Dean broke a branch from a tree and tied his palest shirt to it. It was not white, but it was the best he had.

He rode toward the camp, keeping the branch out in front of him. He saw the goblins panic at the sight of him, an image that gave him much satisfaction, and he drew near without receiving another arrow to his gut. “I would like to treat with your leader,” he said, with as much authority as he could muster.

One of the goblins came forward, an ugly fellow, though that was not a distinction amongst goblins. “And why should he speak to you?” It sneered.

“Because the strength of the Rohirrim is at my back, and if I do not get what I want, I will bring them down on you,” Dean said calmly.

The goblins drew back, peering at the forest anxiously. Dean kept his face stern and set, trying to project confidence. Eventually the same goblin waved him forward and led him through the camp to one of the three tents.

Dean dismounted. His horse threw her head when the goblin reached for her reins, but after Dean stroked her neck gently she let herself be held. He gathered his wits and entered the tent.

A large goblin was seated upon a chair fashioned to look like a throne, accented with human bones. Dean did not let his disgust show as he took in the inside of the tent. He froze, however, when he saw what the goblin held in his hand.

Castiel’s shining mail, and his blade. There were other goblins in the tent, but no sign of Castiel. Dean straightened his shoulders. “I have come for the elf,” he said.

“What do you want with the elfling,” the goblin atop the throne hissed. “What concern do you have with him?”

“The men of the Rohirrim do not abandon their companions lightly,” Dean replied.

Some of the goblins drew back, but the large one laughed. It was a horrible sound, like the gurgling of a dying man. “If you are Rohirrim, why do you dress like a peasant of the mountains?”

“I chose my clothing as befitted speaking with you,” Dean said dismissively. The goblin hissed, eyes narrowing, and Dean continued. “Where is the elf?”

Two of the goblins disappeared into a dark corner of the tent and Dean started in surprise when he realized Castiel had been there all along. He was still bound, and there were slashes through his clothing and bloodstains darkening the pale fabric. He didn’t look seriously injured however, and his eyes flashed when he saw Dean.

“I am taking him,” Dean said.

“What are your terms?” The goblin asked.

“I take him, and in return I do not kill everyone in this tent,” Dean answered.

There was silence as the goblins took in this statement, and then there was an uproar. Dean drew his sword and darted over to where Castiel lay, so that they couldn't use him as leverage. The goblins rushed at him. At an earlier time Dean may have had trouble holding them off, but he had fought many goblins of late and slew most of them easily, even with Castiel beneath his feet limiting his movement. When he saw it, Dean took the opportunity to cut Castiel’s bonds, and the elf rose unsteadily to his knees. Dean positioned himself so he was between Castiel and their enemies.

There were a handful of goblins left. Dean dealt with them until there was only one - the largest goblin. He rushed at Dean with a sword in one hand and Castiel’s blade in the other.

Goblins were bred for war, but in Dean's experience they exhibited many of the same moves and tells, making it easy for him to read. This goblin was of another sort entirely, faster and stronger, and Dean found himself in the fight of his life. Every strike he blocked with his sword jarred his arm, and they rained down on him from both sides, forcing him to move faster to block them. Sparks flew from their blades, until finally Dean kicked out with his leg and sent the goblin stumbling back. Dean pursued him, sliding his blade along Castiel’s, past the marginal hilt and deep into the goblins arm.

The goblin shrieked and his grip on Castiel’s blade loosened. Dean knocked it into the dirt, and attacked again. Even though it was injured, the goblin fought fiercely, hissing and spitting until Dean forced the sword away from the goblins body and beheaded him.

Dean took a deep breath, stooping briefly to grab Castiel’s weapon from the ground before crossing the room to help the elf to his feet. Dean slung one of Castiel’s arms over his shoulders and helped him to the gap in the walls of the tent.

“You came for me,” Castiel murmured.

“Of course I did,” Dean replied. “Come on, quietly now.”

He darted out quickly and killed the goblin holding his horse’s reins. Castiel had fallen to his knees once again, and Dean tried not to worry as he hauled him up and pushed him into the saddle. He jumped up behind him and grasped the reins in his left hand. Holding his sword ready, he kicked them forward and fled the camp.

He guided them quickly through the forest, until he reached the creek. He urged his horse forward through the water until they came to a thick mass of brambles, something no horse could walk. He slid Castiel out of the saddle and gathered the saddlebags in his arms before sending his horse off with a regretful look.

He had discovered this place quite by accident many years ago. The creek that led into the valley seemed to come out from a thicket of brambles, but when Dean had been less skilled with a bow he’d wounded a rabbit. It had hopped upstream through the water, and Dean had followed it, unwilling to let his shot go to waste. When he’d broken through the brambles, he’d found a grassy copse, perfect for avoiding prying eyes. There was another entrance that Dean had made himself from the opposite direction. It was easier to gain access that way but it was on dry land, and Dean wouldn't risk their scents being caught, so he would have to take Castiel in through the low gap between the briars and the water.

It took a long time to haul the unconscious Castiel through the water, but eventually Dean managed. He laid Castiel on the grass and since it seemed that he was not in danger of dying immediately, Dean went back out to check if they'd left a trail. Castiel's legs had left deep grooves in the bed of the creek, so Dean covered them up and washed the mud off the rocks from where his body had dragged over them.

When he deemed their presence unnoticeable the sun was still high in the sky, a little past mid day judging from it’s position. Dean dragged himself back into the copse. Once he washed the mud from his hands, he knelt over Castiel to observe his wounds better.

There were several deep slashes in the delicate skin of his stomach, bruises around his eyes, and the fabric of his pants were littered with burn marks. Dean’s stomach soured, the knowledge that he’d been responsible for the blemishes marking this body filling him with guilt. He dug through his saddlebags for the ointment he carried and began tending to Castiel’s wounds.

He was treating the wounds on his stomach when Castiel began to stir. “Dean…” he mumbled, looking around and trying to sit up.

“Lie still,” Dean said, pressing down on Castiel’s shoulder gently. “You are safe, I am tending to your injuries. Do you want some water?”

He nodded, and Dean brought him some fresh from the stream. He raised Castiel’s head, helping him drink, wiping the water from his face when some of it spilled. “Thank you,” Castiel murmured.

“You’re welcome,” Dean said. He made to get up, but one of Castiel’s hands fastened around his wrist, holding him tight.

“You don’t understand,” Castiel said. “I thought I would die there. Far from my father’s lands, surrounded by goblin filth. I had resigned myself to my fate. But you saved me.”

“We are not out of danger yet,” Dean said gently.

“Even if I die, I will die out here, beneath the stars and the sun. There is no comparison. I am in your debt.”

Dean snorted. “If anything, I am in yours. You saved me once already, and if I had not been reckless you would not have been in a position to need rescue.”

“Still,” Castiel said. “You did not abandon me.”

Dean pulled away gently. The fierceness in Castiel’s eyes was beginning to make him uncomfortable. “Lie still,” he repeated, and began once again to treat Castiel’s wounds.

Later, once night fell and Castiel regained some of his strength, enough to sit up while Dean dug some salted meat from his saddlebags, he asked, “Where is this place?”

“A thicket of brambles just a few miles from the Roadhouse,” Dean replied. “The goblins won’t be able to track us, or see us if we don’t use a fire. They might be able to hear, if the wind is in the right direction, so keep relatively quiet.”

“Dean!” Castiel said suddenly. “I just remembered. The Roadhouse has been abandoned.”

“What?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “That’s what they wanted to know. They kept asking where your people had gone.”

“So the goblins camped outside the walls…”

“Just the goblins who couldn’t fit within the hold,” Castiel nodded.

Dean shook his head. “I am sorry,” he said, “To have placed you in such danger.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel answered. “I lived, and now we know more than we did.”

“Yes,” Dean said, pulling out his maps. It was too dark, so he subsided, but at least they had an idea of what to do moving forward.

“This place is ingenious,” Castiel said, looking around once again. “I’m shocked at how foresighted you were, considering that this has been a relatively peaceful region.”

“Ah,” Dean said. “Well, I didn’t set this place up in case of siege, actually. There’s more than one reason a man would like to be left undisturbed.”

Castiel tilted his head. “And what reason is that?” he asked.

“Well,” Dean began awkwardly. “This is a place to take my - my dalliances." The more adventurous ones, at any rate.

Castiel’s eyes widened as he took Dean’s meaning. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

Dean held his gaze, but after a moment of serious staring, burst into laughter. He covered his mouth with his hands, mindful of the threat of enemies close around them. After a moment, Castiel began to chuckle quietly too. It was the first time Dean had heard him laugh, and he was so captivated that his own petered out. It recalled the noise at the bottom of the waterfall, joy that thunders. Castiel’s laughter subsided quickly, but he kept smiling. It transformed his face from one of sternness to one of a friend. “Does that mean that I am one of your dalliances, Dean?” he teased.

Dean returned his smile. “Do you want to be?”

He had meant it as a joke, but it came out softer, like a caress, undeniably serious.

Castiel’s eyes glinted even in the darkeness, but he didn’t say anything. Dean opened his mouth to redact his offer or make light of it, but before he could say anything Castiel’s harsh voice said, “Yes.”

Dean’s throat went dry. He knew what he had heard, but something prompted him to ask once more, just to be sure. “Yes?”

“Yes,” came the answer, the same as it had been before.

Dean crawled forward, pushing Castiel down into the grass. He didn’t say anything, sure as he was that his words would stick in his throat from the way Castiel was looking at him. In the moonlight he looked pale and otherworldly, something that Dean shouldn’t be allowed to touch.

He had brought people here before, many times, but when he unlaced Castiel’s trousers and found him hard inside, waiting for him, this act suddenly seemed new. Sacred, somehow, in the still, cool night air, Castiel’s eyes reflecting starlight. And when Dean brought him to climax with his hand, the only sign being given in Castiel’s soft exhale and the way his eyes almost seemed to glow, he did not need more than a handful of strokes to find his own release.

The next day, Dean took stock of the contents of his saddlebags. He had a few handfuls of jerky, some cakes, and that was the extent of their food. Once Castiel recovered, they might be able to hunt again, but so close to their enemy, Dean didn’t think it wise to separate. The food would last them roughly four days, maybe more if Dean tightened his belt.

In addition to the food, he had a handful of coins, enough perhaps to buy a horse or extra supplies, but not enough for both. Dean’s weapons were all in order, and with luck they might be able to trade some of his knives with villagers.

Castiel gave no sign that he remembered what happened last night, and Dean didn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed. He pushed it from his own mind and turned instead to the maps.

“If the people inside the Roadhouse fled,” he said. “We need to determine where they are.”

Castiel leaned forward over the maps. “Might they have gone to Edoras?” he asked.

“Ellen and Jo would be welcome there,” Dean said. “And Sam and some of the higher born might be granted leave there by dint of being with them, but the rest of the household, the servants and warriors, would be too much for Edoras to house.” He had only been there once, but he remembered that space on the hill-top was limited. Theoden was not one to turn away lords and ladies, but he was practical. If there was no space, he would not work to make his halls a refugee sanctuary.

“A better option would be Helm’s Deep,” Dean mused. “It can support most of Rohan if need arose, but it is further north than Edoras, and that journey would not be practical for so many people, especially since they would have to take food and women and children.”

“Where then would they go?” Castiel asked.

“A keep here in the mountains,” Dean decided. “In terms of distance, either my own or Henrickson’s. Henrickson’s is closer, but if Sam is in the company, there is no chance of being turned away from Winchester. Henrickson is a good man, but like Theoden he would not hesitate to close his doors if he felt the need.”

“Shall we strike out for one of them, then?”

Dean studied the maps. On foot, they might barely make it to Henrickson’s keep before their food ran out, and they wouldn’t reach Winchester. Henrickson's hall was in the opposite direction of his own. “I say,” Dean said slowly, “That we make our way to one of the nearby villages. They need to be warned not to go to the Roadhouse once their harvest is in anyway, and we might be able to bargain for a horse or some extra supplies.”

“Very well,” Castiel said. “Shall we set out today?”

Dean looked at him, considering. Castiel was remarkably well considering he was tortured not two days hence, but he still moved stiffly from the kick his horse had given him. “No,” he said. “We will have to take night watches once we leave this place, and there is no sense wasting the opportunity to get a few more hours of sleep tonight, not when we would cover only a few miles. But we should be prepared to move quickly in the morning.”

Castiel nodded and took the waterskin to the stream to fill it. Dean bent over the saddlebags, ready to repack them, but halted his movements as he watched his companion. The afternoon sun reflected off of the water and threw patterns over Castiel’s dark hair and his clothes, the lean, strong line of his back. He hesitated, then crawled over to the box he kept hidden beneath the brambles. He took the container of oil that felt fullest and slipped it in quietly with the coin.

That night they ate sparingly, though they drank their fill from the stream, knowing they would be without flowing water in the coming days. Dean was wiping the water from his chin when he looked up and found Castiel watching him intently.

His hair was tucked behind his ears, and Dean thought he would like to know what those points felt like on his tongue. He could feel himself hardening, and he wondered how in the space of a moment he had gone from thinking about the taste cool of water to feeling like his skin was on fire, kindled from the intensity of Castiel’s gaze.

Dean moved forward, looking at Castiel’s mouth, still wet, wondering what it would be like to kiss him, but he turned cowardly at the last moment and simply pushed him onto the grass as he had the night before.

He thought of the oil, buried within his bags, but when he unlaced Castiel’s garment and found him hard once again, he simply licked his palm and began stroking him. There was less urgency than the night before, and Dean took the opportunity to look down.

Castiel was shaped much like a man, a little thinner and with less hair around the base than Dean himself, but there was no doubt who Dean was with. Castiel did not make a sound, or give any sign that he was affected by what Dean was doing, and when he exhaled softly and spent himself, surprise made Dean gasp.

He did not know what made Castiel so compelling, when he gave so little sign that he was affected, but something about him laid out on the grass filled Dean with desperation to see his own release. He fumbled clumsily with his own clothes and heaved a sigh of relief when he finally won the battle with his cloth.

A firm hand rolled him over, and Dean looked at Castiel in shock as the elf knelt over him and slid his own hand into Dean’s pants to close around him. Dean cried out when that hand began to move, and Castiel’s other hand clamped down over his mouth.

Dean flushed, embarrassed to have forgotten about the world around them and the danger they were in, but he knew that were he to be put in the same situation again, he would do the same thing.

Castiel’s face was close, so close that Dean could feel his breath upon his cheek, and Dean screwed his eyes shut and came, little whimpers stifled against Castiel’s palm while his hips thrust up into Castiel’s hand.

 

They set out the next morning. Dean insisted on carrying their bags, feigning deafness when Castiel argued that he was healed. The bruises around Castiel’s eyes were faded but still yellow, and though the wounds on his stomach were scabbed over, Dean would not risk them opening up again, not when he was more than capable of carrying them himself. Castiel walked stiffly for half the day, but by mid-afternoon he carried himself normally. They made better progress than Dean expected, and if pressed to guess, he would say they were less than a day’s journey from the nearest village. Whether that village was still standing was another question entirely, and for that they could only trust to hope.

That night it was Castiel that reached for him, rolling him onto his back and reaching between them to take them both in hand. Dean came the same way he had the night before, with a hand over his mouth to stifle his cries and Castiel’s breath against his face. Castiel was as silent as ever, though he rocked against Dean and spent himself while he was kneeling over him. Some of it landed on the strip of skin on Dean’s stomach exposed by the way his shirt was pushed up, and when Castiel’s hand pushed his spend into the sprinkling of hair there Dean groaned.

Castiel put him back in order, and he leaned over Dean and murmured, “I’ll take the first watch.” Dean was too sated to argue.

Castiel woke him halfway through the night, and Dean took over. He had weathered many a watch over the years, and he knew how to keep his eye and his thoughts separate. He ran through their options in case the village they were making for was destroyed. If it were so, their outlook was bleak. They would have to choose between making for another village on short rations, and making for his keep. And thinking of Winchester only made him anxious. If Ellen had felt the need to flee the Roadhouse, with all its warriors, how then would his own hold fare? It was situated better, high on a mountainside, but he kept a much smaller staff.

He would find out eventually, and to get the tight, worried feeling out from his belly, he thought instead of Castiel. They had not spoken of what was happening, and to be honest Dean was pleased. So far they did not need to talk about it, making this the easiest companionship Dean had had in years. But he wondered if he should. He could still feel the place on his stomach where Castiel had rubbed his spend into his skin in what would be a claim if it came from a man. It might be best to raise the issue before it got out of hand. His bedroll was beginning to smell like the elf. Like summer and snow all at once. Perhaps his own clothes were sucking in the scent. He shivered and drew his limbs closer into himself.

When dawn broke, they ate a small portion of their remaining food and set out. They reached the village by midday, and by some stroke of luck it was untouched by the goblins. The chief did not immediately believe Dean’s news, but when he saw Castiel’s pointed ears combined and the tears in his clothes he quieted and took them at their word. He agreed to send the news on to the other villages that took shelter at the Roadhouse during the winter, and he relented enough to let them stay the night free of charge.

Dean spent the rest of the day haggling over the price of food and horse. The people in this village were skilled at bartering, far more skilled than the people of his own lands. They would not part with even the oldest horse for any less than all of his coin, and eventually he gave. The animal was a plow horse, so old that it would likely hinder them rather than help. Even for food, they drove a hard bargain, and Dean walked away with a good deal less than he had hoped for. Still, it was hearty, and should get them to his halls without a good deal of fuss.

“You could have taken it from them,” Castiel observed when Dean told him of their supplies. “You are a lord. Are they not compelled to give you aid when you seek it?”

“Perhaps, but I am honor bound to protect them, even from myself.”

  
“You are an honorable man,” Castiel remarked. With that, he bowed his head and took his leave, for he was housed in a different building than Dean was. Dean went to bed on a mattress for the first time since he set out with Castiel. It was thin and made of straw, but it was comfortable and the building was solid and warm against the night air. Even so, Dean did not sleep as well as he had the night before with only the scent of himself in his nose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

They set out early in the morning. They refilled their waterskins from the village well, and once the light peeked into the valley they went on their way. This time Dean did allow Castiel to carry some of their supplies, though he made sure the bulk of the water was in his own pack.

It would take a little under two weeks to reach Winchester, if the weather held. The air carried a fall chill, and Winchester lay deeper in the mountains, higher to the skies and more vulnerable to early season snows. There was no guarantee that they would run into trouble, but if Dean had his way he wouldn't be attempting this journey on foot this late in the season.

“How do goblins fare in snow?” Dean asked, breaking the quiet.

“About as well as any other race,” Castiel said. “Though they do not typically wear clothes suitable for cold weather. They might be uncomfortable, but they won’t perish if they have fire or shelter.”

“That is unfortunate,” Dean said.

Castiel laughed, that same rumbling sound that Dean was so captivated by a few nights ago. “And what of you?” Dean asked.  Castiel wore the same tattered pants and shirt that he was wearing when Dean found him. The rest of his clothes had been lost when the goblins took him, even his mail. Dean hadn’t taken the time to look for them, but now he found began to regret it. He should have bargained with the villagers for clothes as well as food. The only thing he had bought them were two thick winter cloaks that should keep the chill at bay during the night.

“Elves do not succumb to cold easily,” Castiel replied. “I’m sure you have ways for keeping warm in the wild.”

Dean certainly did. His face burned and he hoisted his pack higher onto his shoulder, suddenly eager to put more distance between them and anyone else.

Their path took them north, through parts of the forest that still had grass growing beneath the trees. As they rose higher, Dean knew, the ground would turn to moss and needles, and eventually there would be nothing but rock. The terrain would grow uneven, too, but that day their way was smooth and pleasant.

They stopped as soon as Dean had to strain to see the trees ahead of them. He could probably have ventured further - in this region there were no sudden perils to worry about, but he chose instead to lay down his things.

The bread he ate for his supper stuck in his throat, so heavy he felt with anticipation. Castiel showed no sign of feeling as though anything was amiss, so to occupy his hands Dean repacked their supplies, taking stock of what they had left out of habit.

He felt warmth at his side, and then Castiel laid one of his hands onto Dean’s neck, his thumb brushing the skin beneath Dean’s collar. Dean’s pulse sounded loud in his ears. What was it that made the slightest touch from Castiel feel like a revelation? For when Castiel slid his hand down to his shoulder and put gentle pressure there, directing him backwards, there was nothing that Dean wanted more than to let him.

“Wait,” he croaked. Castiel drew his hand away, and Dean used the respite that gave him to dig the oil out from where he’d hidden it. He pressed it into Castiel’s hands. He undid his pants and while Castiel looked quizzically at the container, pushed them down so his ass was exposed and bent over.

There was a breathless moment, while Dean trembled, waiting in silence. He didn’t dare look behind to see what Castiel was doing, but nothing happened for such a long time that he was worried Castiel had pulled away. Then a warm hand anointed with oil slid between his cheeks, and Dean heaved a sigh of relief and pleasure.

It had been so long since he had been with someone this way, and Dean focused most of his efforts on staying relaxed and and keeping quiet. They were far enough away from the Roadhouse that there shouldn’t be any problem, but the goblins had come from the north, and if more entered heading for the Roadhouse they would pass this way.

It was unwise to do this in such turbulent times, but Dean didn’t see the point in waiting. His home of summer was overrun, his home of winter might be, and under the circumstances he might as well take pleasure when he can.

Castiel’s fingers were thick and deep inside him, almost perfect, but when he slid them out and replaced them with his cock, hilting himself deep in one thrust, Dean couldn’t stop a whimper from how wonderful it felt. Castiel paused, seemingly content to enjoy himself within Dean’s heat, and Dean’s shifted his hips to try and find that spot deep inside.

Castiel stilled him with a hand laid firmly on his stomach, and Dean flushed and bit his lip to keep from groaning in frustration. Castiel bent over him and trailed his other hand down, past where Dean was hard and stopping on the crease of his thigh, where Dean could feel his tendons trembling. He drew it to the side as far as he could with Dean’s pants above his knees, and sunk in the slightest bit deeper. Dean shuddered and tried to spread his legs even wider.

“Have you been with a man this way before, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” Dean answered, voice tight. The silence that followed dragged on, and Dean broke it by asking, “Does that bother you?”

Castiel pulled out and pushed back in, making Dean dig his fingers into the grass in a desperate attempt to ground himself. “It shouldn’t,” he murmured, breath hot against Dean’s ear. “Elves don’t put the same price on purity as men. And yet, it does. I find myself wanting to drive all memory of others from you.” He drew his hand up from Dean’s thigh and cupped Dean where he was hard. “Could I do that, Dean?” he asked. “May I try?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just began pushing into him as though every thrust of his hips were capable of doing just that, driving everyone else out until only he remained. Dean tried to stay quiet, but when Castiel found that place inside his own lip wasn’t enough to keep him in check. Castiel slapped a hand over his mouth. He came a few minutes later, groans muffled into Castiel's palm when Castiel spilled wet and warm inside of him.

When Castiel pulled out of him, his issue spilled out too. Castiel cleaned away his mess and gently drew his pants back over his hips. It was appreciated, because Dean’s hands were still fisted in the loam and when he finally loosened his grip he realized he’d torn the grass free of it’s roots. His fingernails were caked with dirt.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Castiel said from behind him. Dean crawled to his bedroll and watched Castiel sitting still and silent until he fell asleep.

The next day they made good progress once again. It was difficult to keep his bearing beneath the trees, and he was more used to covering the terrain on a horse, but he still felt like they were well on their way. The late hours of the day had been spent going downhill, and once they crossed the river running through the valley they would be on his mountain. From there it was several days journey uphill, provided that the weather held. Clouds were beginning to threaten on the horizon, and Dean eyed them warily after he put away the remains of their supper. Castiel noticed him frowning and asked, “What has you worried?”

“Those clouds,” Dean said, pointing. “They wouldn’t hinder us down here, but it will turn to snow in the high passes of the mountain.”

“Let me take your mind off of it,” Castiel said, and tugged Dean down until he was bent before him once again.

It did work, long enough for Dean to fall asleep, but when it was Dean’s turn to take watch, the worry came back. When the next day dawned and Dean woke Castiel, he spoke to him shortly. Castiel looked concerned, but he didn’t say anything. They ate their bread in silence and started before the morning passed away.

They crossed the river that split the two mountains at midday, and they refilled their waterskins. When they set off again, Dean spoke. It hadn’t begun to rain, and he felt guilty for having snapped at Castiel so rudely in the morning.

“Now that we’ve crossed the river we are on my mountain,” he said, and hoped it would be enough for Castiel to understand that he hadn’t truly been angry at him. “We’ll keep to the cover of the woods for awhile,” he added. “But once we reach the tree line we’ll have to keep to the road. The high slopes are near impossible to climb.”

“Is your keep very high?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” Dean said. “Cold, remote, and inhospitable during the winter, and simply remote and inhospitable during the summer. I’m afraid we do not have comforts such as you are used to.”

Castiel chuckled. “I’m sure that’s not true. Tell me more?”

Dean shifted uneasily. “You’ll see it soon enough,” he said. “What of your home? I’ve never been to a dwelling of elves. I imagine it must be very different.”

“It is,” Castiel said. “Anael's family lives in houses nestled in the upper branches of trees." He laughed at the disgusted expression on Dean's face. "But in Rivendell it is not so different. It is in a valley, and the river runs through it and marks the borders of my father’s lands. The trees are less dense, and it is warmer there than here, even in winter. The walls are built to let in the open air.”

They walked on for many miles, the rough timbre of Castiel’s voice washing over Dean and making his burdens seem light. When they stopped in the evening, he suddenly realized how tired he was. His feet ached, and it seemed all he could do to take his pack off and unroll his bedroll. He had forgotten how difficult walking uphill could be. He doubted the elf was as tired as he, but Castiel seemed to understand that Dean was too fatigued for anything more and once they were done eating, he simply took up watch. Dean’s eyes slid closed almost before he lay down.

For four more days they hiked as close to straight up the mountain as they could. It rained heavily during the second night, but the day after it was sunny and clear. Dean could only hope that the sun would be enough to clear the road of snow.

Castiel had him every night but the one it was raining, always on his knees and with a palm fastened tight over Dean’s mouth. Dean was beginning to hate that accursed hand, or at least the circumstances that dictated it stay there. They were far enough from the Roadhouse that it probably wouldn’t matter, though close enough to the road that passers-by - a scout from his own halls, even - might hear. It was better to err on the side of caution, so it was necessary, but still Dean couldn’t help but resent it.

They broke out of the tree line on the fifth day. The sudden light reflected off of the snow blinded Dean for a few moments, but when his vision cleared he looked for their path.

They had come too far north before turning upward - the road was behind them, but only a few hours journey. There was still snow on the mountain, but Dean could tell from the sharpness of the rock beneath it that it was only a few inches deep. The way was clear of either enemies or friends as far as Dean could see.

“Look,” he said, pointing out the road to Castiel. “This road is called the Winding Way. It twists and turns all the way to my keep. You can see it nestled between those two waterfalls, there.”

Castiel surveyed the area with keen eyes. “I see it. It is an impressive location, though I cannot imagine who first thought it an ideal place for a home.”

Dean laughed. “I often wonder the same thing, whether my ancestors were all touched by madness. But look, if you strain your eyes you might be able to find the reason. Almost directly above is one of the beacons of Gondor. My family has guarded it and kept it manned for generations.”

Castiel did not move. Dean watched him. “Perhaps you can’t see it from here,” Dean said. “I sometimes think I can, though it could be wishful thinking since I know exactly where to look.”

“No, I can see it,” Castiel murmured. “I just didn’t imagine that you lived in such a place. That you were responsible for something so important.”

“It’s hard to imagine me as anything more than common, I know,” Dean said.

“Why would you say that?” Castiel asked sharply. He turned his gaze away from the mountain and Dean was taken aback at how angry he looked. “You are anything but common.”

Dean didn’t know what to say so he hiked his pack higher onto his shoulders and set off in the direction of the road. For once Castiel followed behind instead of walking beside him, and Dean could feel his gaze boring into the back of his head.

He decided to camp in the forest out of sight from the road and set out upon it in the morning. One last night of cover before they were forced to spend their days on the windy side of the mountain would be a foolish chance to pass up.

It would also be foolish to waste the last chance they would have to find pleasure with each other since the terrain would be so inhospitable for the next few days. Castiel had seemed so angry, though, that Dean didn’t know whether he would want to.

Castiel did reach for him, though he was rougher than usual. He moved quickly, arranging Dean’s limbs to his liking and preparing him efficiently. He also took Dean in hand as soon as he pushed into him, making Dean come long before Castiel was finished. When Castiel finally thrust in one final time and spent himself, Dean’s limbs had turned to water, and if it weren’t for Castiel’s arms wrapped around him he would have tumbled to the ground. The last thing Dean felt before he succumbed to sleep was Castiel’s stoking through his hair, though he was so tired he thought he might be imagining it.

The sky was clear when they set out the next morning. The road was wide enough for carts, and there were no footprints in the melting snow. For the first few switchbacks, the incline was not very steep, but when they reached the fifth change in direction the road rose quickly. It didn’t last long before it evened out again. When Dean’s family had first built the road wide enough for supplies to be brought up the mountain, they’d been forced to take a meandering route around the steep sections of sheer rock and other places where the stone slipped as soon as someone set foot on it. As a result it felt longer than it had to be. Dean had once tried to take a shortcut between two switchbacks when he was still a boy, and the way the rock had crumbled beneath him was more than enough to teach him to teach him caution.

Dean paused when they’d walked for most of the day. The sun was setting in the west and already throwing parts of the path into shadow.

“I like to call the next section ‘Where Foolish Men Die,’” he told Castiel. “It’s the steepest one yet, but short, and people think they can press on into the night. But the ground has been in shadow since early afternoon, and is probably sheer ice by now. You and I might be able to make it up, but once we reach the end there is no shelter against the wind. So we’d likely freeze to death.”

“It seems to me we might freeze anyway,” Castiel said, as a gust of wind whistled around the side of the mountain and tugged at their clothing.

“I’m insulted,” Dean said, holding his hand to his heart in jest and frowning. “Do you really think I would lead you up here to die? Follow me.”

He led the way to where the road bent as it switched directions. Out of sight except to those who knew what to look for was a thin footpath. It was tricky to follow in the low light and covered in snow, but they only had to travel a few feet before it ended at the entrance of a small alcove. There was nothing in it except for a deer skin, but it was somewhat sheltered from the wind. Dean fastened the skin to the top of the entrance and drew it down to the hooks at the bottom, and almost instantly the cavern felt warmer.

“I am sorry I disparaged your ability to keep me alive, Castiel said. “I didn’t count on the ingenuity of men.”

“That was foolish,” Dean teased.

“It was,” Castiel agreed. He knelt beside Dean and helped him unpack food for their supper and the bedroll. They were running low on water, but tomorrow they should reach a section of the road where the waterfall flowed beneath it. Their food was beginning to look sparse, but they shouldn’t have a problem there either.

“Should we keep watch tonight?” Castiel asked when they were digging into their supper.

Dean shrugged, mouth full. Once he swallowed, he said, “No point. Not much sense staring at a flap of door. But we should take turns in the bedroll. Even as sheltered as we are the stone is likely to get cold.”

“You should take your turn first,” Castiel said, brushing one of his warm hands over Dean’s cold ones. “I haven’t been chilled like you.”

Dean crawled into his bedroll after they finished eating without waiting to see if Castiel reached for him. He was tired and their next was likely to be just as hard. They were in the middle of the steepest part of the road. Castiel didn’t seem confused or hurt, for once seeming almost as tired as Dean was. He simply lay down next to Dean and went to sleep.

They switched positions in the middle of the night. It was cold, but Castiel had left a warm spot on the floor and Dean wrapped himself in his cloak and besides some stiffness in his muscles, passed a restful night.

While Castiel was rolling the bedroll and repacking their food, Dean unhooked the deerskin from its mountings and swore when he saw what awaited them.

Castiel joined him and together they looked outside.

Snow had come in the night. “I didn’t see any clouds yesterday,” Castiel murmured.

“Autumn storms come and go quickly,” Dean said. “It seems deep here - we’ll have to see how it is on the road.”

On the road it reached Dean’s knees. Dean cursed the foul weather and weighed their options.

“We could stay here for a night,” Castiel offered as though he were reading Dean’s mind. “Wait for the snow to melt and press on when it does.”

“We need water,” Dean countered.

“We have snow,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean kicked it irritability. He avoided looking at Castiel. Elves, it seemed, could walk on top of snow. Even weighed down by his pack he barely sunk in an inch, where Dean would have to muscle his way through it. “Yes, we have snow,” he said. “And nothing to melt it with. Eating it is dangerous, especially when the only thing we have to keep ourselves warm is our own heat.”

He strode forward a little ways, testing his strength. Castiel kept pace with him easily. At least he would only have to worry about exhaustion for himself. “On a normal day the waterfall is only a few hours away,” Dean said. “We should be able to make it there even now.” And so they set off.

Even in the cold air Dean began to sweat quickly. In some places the snow was only a few inches deep, and when that happened he was able to regain his breath. In other areas, the snow had drifted in the wind until it was nearly to his waist, and there Dean struggled and cursed and shoved his way up. Castiel walked at his side, watching him with a concerned gaze that Dean did his best to ignore.

When they reached the waterfall, Dean collapsed onto one of the stones that served as a ledge, not even bothering to wipe it clear of snow. Castiel took the waterskins and filled them while Dean bent over and tried to calm the beating of his heart. He gave Dean one as soon as it was filled, and Dean gulped at it gratefully.

Once Dean’s thirst had been sated and the waterskins refilled, he heaved a huge sigh and braced himself. There was a shelter at the end of this switchback, and the sun was already low in the sky. He wanted to reach it before it sunk away behind the horizon fully.

They did make it, barely. Darkness fell while Dean chewed on a piece of dried meat as Castiel hooked the deerskin into its mountings. He barely had strength to crawl into the bedroll before sleep took him.

Dean woke when Castiel shook him in the middle of the night. “Yes Cas?” he mumbled.

“Dean. It is very cold. May I keep warm with you?”

For a second he thought he was imagining things. But no, when he blinked Castiel was still crouched over him, looking at him hopefully. The wind whistled outside of their shelter. “You must be joking,” Dean said. His limbs felt like water. “I couldn’t stand, much less -”

“Not that,” Castiel said hastily. “I only meant -” He slid as close to Dean as he could and Dean realized belatedly that he was shivering. Castiel’s hand on his chest felt like ice.

Dean found some extra energy in the depths of his core and scrambled upright. He forced Castiel, cloak and all, into the bedroll and slipped his own around so that it covered them both, overriding Castiel’s protests as he did so.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asked, digging his hat out from where he’d stashed it in his pack. He shoved it as far down as it would go on Castiel’s head. He was irritated at Castiel, but mostly at himself. In his exhaustion, he’d forgotten that Castiel hadn’t been keeping his blood warm with exertion as he’d walked beside Dean. He must have been chilled, certainly more than Dean had been in his struggles.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Castiel answered.

Dean frowned. “I’m worried now,” he said. Castiel did not reply. “Put your hands on my neck,” Dean directed. The elf hesitated. “Come on, blood flows hot there.”

Castiel’s hands were ice on Dean’s warm skin, but he very carefully did not flinch. He pulled the hood of his cloak up before covering them with his own hands.

“Next time, say something,” Dean ordered. “It’s much easier to keep warm than it is to regain it once lost.”

Castiel cast his eyes down. The hesitation, the way he was clearly ashamed, and the hat covering his ears made him look almost human. For a second, Dean’s mind spun out a fantasy, of a different world one where they were both human, and had met, and were here. They would be the same in that world, with no responsibilities or worries. A perfect world, Dean thought, but then Castiel shifted, hands too soft and smooth for a man’s sliding along his neck, and the illusion shattered. Dean was left a common man in a less than perfect world. But he was still holding an elf in his arms, and Dean’s last thought as he felt Castiel’s hands warm against him was that this world was one worth living in after all.

They spent the next day in the cave, letting Castiel regain his heat and Dean regain his strength while the sun shone down, melting the snow for an easier journey the following day. The next day dawned with clear skies, and they set out as soon as they had packed their things away. There was still snow in some places, where the drifts were too deep for the sun to melt, but those were few and much shallower than they had been. Dean still had to struggle through them, but their depth didn’t last long and they passed them quickly. It was also warmer than it had been the previous days, and they made it farther than Dean had hoped they would.

With luck, they would reach Winchester the next day, and find it strong and secure. Of course, this sad sequence of events that had led them here made it very difficult for Dean to have faith in luck.

Despite his pessimistic thoughts, Dean marched on the next day over the now clear road as quickly as he could, and they made it to his outer gate before the sun began to set.

“Who goes there?” a voice called out from the sentry post. Dean held up his hand against the glare from the sun and squinted, trying to see into the darkened room.

“Sam?” he asked, voice heavy with hope. “Is that you?”

“Dean?”

This time there was no mistaking the voice for Dean’s brother. Dean sighed in relief and his knees nearly buckled when the gates opened and Sam rushed at him, enfolding him in his huge arms as though Dean were the younger and Sam the elder. On any other day Dean would have fought against the embrace, but he was so grateful that Sam was alive and safe that he returned it until Sam pulled away.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Are Ellen and Jo safe?”

“Yes,” Sam reassured him quickly. “I’ll tell you everything once we are inside.”

Once the doors shut behind them Dean felt himself relax for the first time since they’d found the first set of goblins. It seemed so long ago, a different age where a group of eight goblins was out of the ordinary. Now goblins held the Roadhouse, and Dean had a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.

They crossed the outer courtyard and entered the halls of his home. As he had explained to Castiel, it was bare and unadorned inside, but the rock walls were thick and kept the wind and chill at bay.

“Dean!” a voice called. He turned and saw Jo running toward him for a split second before she tackled him into an embrace. “We thought you were dead!”

“Not for lack of trying,” he joked. “Where is your mother?”

“She rode to Edoras with a few men to seek help,” Jo answered. “The rest of us came here. Sam thought it would be safest.”

They certainly wouldn’t have to worry about arrows or swords holed up in this keep, but starvation was another matter entirely. Dean was exhausted, looking forward to sleeping in a bed, but a sense of certainty settled into his stomach and he knew he would not be able to for long.

Sam and Jo led the way to the map room. His uncle was there, and he too embraced Dean before drawing away and slapping him on the back of the head.

“Uncle Bobby!” Dean protested.

“That’s for scaring me, boy,” his uncle glowered. “For weeks I’ve been up here while Sam fills my head with his theories, which all seem to revolve around you being dead.”

“Sorry, Uncle Bobby,” Dean said. “Now, is someone going to explain what happened? And can we get some hot food? I’ve been living on jerky and bread.”

One of the servants who had been poring over the maps with Bobby when they’d arrived scurried off, and while he was gone Sam began the tale.

“We saw your red smoke, and we prepared for battle. But three days later, Henrickson and Walker came riding in from the north. They said there was an orc army on it’s way and that we’d better be prepared to receive them.”

“Why weren’t you?” Dean asked.

Sam hung his head, ashamed. “I sent most of the men out to investigate your smoke. I assumed whoever was responsible should be captured, but I didn’t think that there would be a chance of more coming, or that they’d attack a stronghold. We had a small group of men, but not enough to hold out against a siege, and so we made the decision to leave.”

“My mother rode to Edoras to ask the king for help,” Jo interjected. “The rest of us came here to safety.”

They wouldn’t be safe here for very long. If the goblins were allowed to roam free over these lands. Sooner or later, they would gather in numbers greater than even the mountain could turn away, or starve them out. The grim expressions on his friends faces showed that they knew this too.

“Has there been any news of my cousin?” Castiel asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Sam answered. “Though I didn’t expect her to return before winter began in any case.”

Castiel nodded. It was plain to see that he wasn’t happy by the news, however, and when a servant appeared with food for the both of them, Dean said, “Prepare a set of chambers for Castiel. One with windows, so that he may see the stars,” he added. He knew that if there was one thing that would make the elf feel better about his missing kinsman, it was the stars. Sometimes, when Castiel was supposed to be sleeping while Dean was on watch, he'd caught him looking up into the night sky. This high up the sky was filled with them, so bright one felt like they were a part of this world, instead of far away.

“And a bath for you both,” Sam tacked on. “I didn’t know it was possible for someone to smell so bad, Dean.” Dean shoved him, but his heart wasn’t in it and he didn’t redact the order.

Once they were prepared, Sam and Jo left with Castiel to show him the way, and Dean and Bobby were left alone. Taking the opportunity to speak candidly with his uncle, Dean asked, “What is our situation here, really?”

Bobby heaved a sigh and slumped in his seat. “We’ve enough food to feed everyone for about a month. We’ll get a bit more when the villagers arrive for the winter, but not enough to feed the extra mouths. We’d probably make it through winter, but we’d be a good deal skinnier and out of horse.”

Dean winced. He wasn’t as attached to horses as their kinsmen in the plains, but the thought of eating them still turned his stomach.

Bobby fixed him with a resigned look. “You know what you have to do, don’t you?”

Dean did. They would have to retake the Roadhouse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Dean spent long hours reading over maps and lists of men, staying bent over until his back was strained and he had to make the choice to sleep in his bed or where he sat. Only then did he retire to his chambers. The bathwater was tepid, but he stayed in the water for a long time anyway, trying to prolong the moment when he would have to slide beneath the covers. He was always more comfortable at the Roadhouse, and would even rather be sleeping in a bedroll over what should be his father's bed. Even after six years he still wasn’t used to lying down beneath those covers. 

He awoke disoriented and confused, for a second believing that he was twenty-two again and it was the morning after his father was put to the flames, the first night he had ever spent in these rooms. Once he calmed down and remembered himself, he rose and went on a tour of his castle, to see if the situation truly matched the numbers he pored over last night. 

The majority of Ellen’s men were camped in his great hall, protected from the wind and cold. His stockpiles of wood were still high, and water flowed from the waterfall even in winter. Warmth and thirst he wouldn’t have to worry about. It was the cellars that had him frowning in concern. Bobby’s assessment was right. With the amount of men he was currently hosting, they would last barely a month before they were reduced to eating their own leather. The food the mountain folk brought might tide them over a bit longer, but the fact remained that Winchester was simply not stocked enough to support the amount of people gathered there. 

“Your brother told me I might find you here,” a voice said from behind him. Dean turned to see Castiel standing in the doorway. He managed a brief smile before turning back to survey his supplies. He felt Castiel step up beside him. “You seem troubled.”

“I don’t have enough food to feed everyone,” Dean admitted. “Not through the winter, not even past the end of autumn.”

Castiel didn’t offer him platitudes, and Dean was grateful. Their situation was grim, and no empty words would make it less so. “Were your chambers suitable?” Dean asked, trying to drive his worry from his mind with trivial matters. “Were you warm enough?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered. “You give your home too little credit.”

Dean smiled ruefully. “Perhaps I do. I spend so much time here, it seems insignificant and plain.” He eyed Castiel thoughtfully. Someone had laid out clothes for him, in the style of his people. They might even be his, from when he was a younger man, thinner and smaller. The thought gave him an odd sort of thrill. “I’ve called a strategy meeting,” Dean said. “Depending on how long it runs, there might be time afterwards before it gets too late. Perhaps… would you like to see the beacon?”

Castiel turned toward him. Dean’s heart began to thump painfully in his chest, hope and worry mixed into one. It was ludicrous - he shouldn’t be anxious over something so trivial - but somehow this simple offer seemed more intimate than anything they had done previously.

“I would like that very much,” Castiel said, smiling as though Dean had offered him something wonderful instead of a cold afternoon riding a rickety platform into the sky. Dean smiled back, unable to shake the feeling that something had just happened beyond simple hospitality.

The strategy meeting began on a sour note. Dean, Sam, Jo, Bobby, and Castiel were joined by Victor and Gordon, and when the two other men saw Castiel they balked. 

“What is he doing here?” Victor demanded. 

“He is attending the strategy meeting, just as you are,” Dean said shortly.

“I didn’t know we were selling our secrets to the elves,” Gordon muttered. 

“Castiel is here having offered his counsel,” Dean snapped. “He has fought more goblins than any of us, and if you want to refuse his offer of help you are not welcome to mine, either. You are welcome to leave the shelter of my mountain anytime.”

Gordon flushed and looked away, but Victor’s eyes remained challenging. Dean glared until he, too, lowered his eyes. “Now, the situation is thus,” Dean continued. “Orcs have taken the Roadhouse as their own. They have also camped around the walls with their extra numbers. I don’t have the supplies to feed everyone currently here, so unless your father opens his halls, Henrickson, with an unexpected amount of provisions, we have one choice.” Dean took a deep breath. “We must reclaim the Roadhouse.”

Jo looked eager. Sam, Bobby, and Castiel looked grim but determined. Victor Dean couldn’t read, but Gordon looked ready to laugh. Sure enough, after a moment Gordon chuckled. “You cannot be serious. That’s impossible. There are too many of them, and their armor is thick.”

“Their armor is thick, yes” Castiel said. “But simply made. They have very little protection in their joints or about their heads, being unskilled in metal work. Lord Winchester has proved more than capable of cutting them down, and if your fighting style matches his you shouldn’t have much trouble.”

“Whether or not we are better than them, they have the advantage in numbers,” Victor pointed out. “Even the best warrior can be defeated by bad luck, and fighting so many there are sure to be casualties.”

“We are certain to starve here,” Dean said bluntly. “If we retake the Roadhouse, there may still be food in the stores.”

“Unlikely,” Gordon muttered, and Dean ignored him. 

“We have a chance if we try,” Dean said. “And we have no chance if we don’t.”

There was silence around the table as everyone contemplated this. Eventually, Gordon sighed and turned to Jo. “My lady,” he said. “I do not think this wise. But I shall follow your lead in whatever decision you make with regards to your home.”

“As will I,” Victor said. 

“As shall we all,” Dean affirmed. 

Jo surveyed the maps. “I believe Dean is right. We cannot hold out here through the winter, and even if we do, what then? More goblins will come from the north, and eventually we shall all be overrun. We need to take back my mother’s seat before the snows set in and it is too late.”

“Very well,” Victor said. “In that case, we need to move quickly.”

“Victor is right,” Dean said. “Already autumn snows hinder our journey up and down the mountain. If we do not move quickly we will be forced to stay here, whether we wish it or not.”

“I’ll ride down to my father’s halls tomorrow and tell him to prepare whatever food and weapons we can spare,” Henrickson said. “Our castle is small, and it cannot hold large numbers of people, but we can offer support with food for awhile at least.”

“That is wise,” Dean said. “We’ll mobilize the men we have here and follow you down as quickly as we can.”

The meeting broke up shortly after, as soon as it was apparent what needed to be done. Victor and Gordon would ride down at first light, while Dean and the others would stay for no more than a week, using Winchester’s resources to find a way to drive the goblins out of the Roadhouse. It was generally accepted that they would be able to deal with the goblins outside of the keep, but what then? That still left the goblins holed up inside.

It was late afternoon when it finally ended, and Dean noted with regret that it was too late to journey to the top of the beacon. When they disbanded, Dean turned to Castiel to let him know but was distracted when Victor called to him. He drew them a short way away before whispering to him urgently. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. “It is our only choice,” he said. “Even if we spread all the people usually housed within the Roadhouse in the winter to all the keeps, we wouldn’t be able to keep them secure. And if we let the Roadhouse stay overrun with goblins they’ll use it as a base to attack other holds. Yours, even, since it is so close.”

Victor held his gaze. “If you’re sure,” he said finally. Dean nodded. Victor walked off, presumably to his own quarters to prepare for the following day. 

Dean sighed and turned back to Castiel. “It is far too late to see the beacon today,” he explained. “The way is dangerous when the afternoon winds pick up.”

“That’s quite alright,” Castiel said. “I would like to see it, but these are troubled times and I understand that it may not be possible.”

“I’d like you to see it, someday,” Dean said. “It is the only thing good my hold has to offer.”

“Not the only thing,” Castiel replied. Dean looked up, startled. There was no doubt what Castiel meant, from the way he was looking back at him, a smile Dean might classify as wicked spreading across his face. Dean wanted to speak, explain that this was one of his rules, that he didn’t sleep with men outside of the wild, but Castiel stepped closer and all protests died in his throat. 

“Later,” Dean said instead. “Not - not now.”

Castiel nodded and stepped back, neutral expression on his face once more. Dean almost regretted it when he walked away, but he had business to take care of, and not much time to do it before they had to leave his place. 

He was so busy with other people and plans that he forgot who he should expect at his door in the evening. He let Castiel in anyway, and slipped the heavy bolt down behind him. Castiel’s eyes flicked around the room, taking it in, the bed, the fire, windows that looked out over the mountains, and the maps and tapestries on the wall before settling on Dean. “I like your rooms,” Castiel said. 

“Is that all that you like?” Dean asked. Like the first night, he meant it playfully, but it came out serious, almost shy. He did not understand what it was about Castiel that made him behave this way. 

Castiel said no and stepped closer, slipping his hands under Dean’s shirt and dipping his fingers into the meat of his stomach and small of his back. His hands were strong and sure as they removed Dean’s clothes, brushing across the skin he revealed in a manner that seemed proprietary. 

Dean did the same - though his hands seemed less capable - until it ended with Dean’s legs on either side of Castiel’s hips as the elf knelt over him. There was so much to see, so much skin that had never been bared to Dean’s eyes, and they roamed over his companion greedily. His skin was pale and the only imperfections were in the spider thin scars on his belly, so faded already that Dean was sure they would disappear in time. 

“Don’t,” Castiel said, and it was only then that Dean realized he had drawn his own limbs in to cover his body, marred as it was by scars. “There’s no need to be ashamed, Dean,” Castiel continued, drawing Dean’s arms to his sides and looking over him. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.”

His skepticism must have shown on his face, because Castiel frowned slightly and placed a hand on the red, angry skin where he had been struck by the arrow. The other hand traveled lower, and Dean squirmed in surprise when a wet finger pushed it’s way inside him. Where Castiel had gotten the oil he did not know, nor did he care as Castiel unerringly found the spot inside him that drove all other thoughts from Dean’s mind. “When I first saw you I thought there had been some mistake,” Castiel said calmly, and Dean had to blink to focus on his face. “How could a mortal possess such beauty?”

Another finger joined the first, and it was all Dean could do to keep from crying out. He dug his fingers into Castiel’s shoulder in an attempt to ground himself, but he ended up marveling at the smoothness of the skin and the strength of the muscle beneath it instead. Castiel on the other hand was as outwardly stoic as ever as he drove Dean to distraction, and it made Dean want to scream. “When you came for me in the goblin camp I thought I had wandered into a dream. You were so fearless, so strong, so beautiful. And then you let me in like this, spread your legs for me so that I may find pleasure in your body.”

With that, Castiel drew his fingers out and slid in, making Dean choke on nothing. “My mind tells me you can’t be real,” Castiel murmured, stroking his fingers along the skin of Dean’s chest slowly, making the muscles beneath them jump. “That I am under some kind of foul sorcery, held in thrall and distracted by images that are impossible.”

“Cas,” Dean whispered, unsure if he was shaking from the way Castiel was buried deep inside him or from the words he was saying. 

“But if that were the case,” Castiel said, beginning to rock Dean’s body further open with tiny thrusts. “I would not break it, even given the chance. I would fight to stay under your spell, even if it killed me. I could not imagine living without this.”

Dean’s hands flew up to grasp Castiel’s arms, needing proof that the person above him was real. The elf’s expression was outwardly neutral, but Dean suddenly understood what made this so compelling. Even if Castiel didn’t appear interested, he  _ was, _ and Dean had the proof of it in his body. “Cas,” he gasped. 

Castiel laid a hand on his cheek and bent down. For a moment, Dean was sure he was going to be kissed, but then the hand slid up and clamped over his mouth. “Hush,” he said. “We wouldn’t want the whole of your keep hearing you as I work your body to pleasure.”

With that, he began thrusting into Dean’s body harshly, harder and quicker than he ever had before. The sound of their coupling echoed through the room, louder and more real in the enclosed space. Castiel didn’t take him in hand but they were so close together, the smooth skin of Castiel’s belly pressed against his cock that Dean knew he wouldn’t need it. Castiel’s breath was hot on his face, his hand was hard over Dean’s mouth, and the slap of their skin was deafening in his ears, depraved and filthy. He groaned out his release, and shuddered and groaned anew when Castiel found his. For a moment Dean wished this wouldn't end, that they could stay entangled in each other. Too soon, Castiel pulled away, leaving Dean cold in the warm room as he gathered his clothes. 

Dean propped himself up by the elbows and watched. He was still half drunk from pleasure, but the words Castiel had spoken planted a seed of worry in his mind. He wondered if he meant them. If Dean should respond in kind. It was so hard to reconcile Castiel his companion, who spoke words and made Dean feel like no one else could, and Castiel the elf, who was aloof and untouchable. 

It didn’t much matter, Dean thought as Castiel nodded to him and slipped out of his room. Whether or not he meant them, Castiel was a good person, he knew that by now. He wouldn’t try to use Dean’s personal favor for mercenary purposes, and unlike last time Dean would be better prepared to recognize machinations for what they were. 

The next day was spent preparing for their siege. Dean spent time sorting food for the men to take with them and food that could be left for those who remained. It took up most of his morning, and his afternoon was spent once again in strategy meetings with Sam, Bobby, Jo, and Castiel. Sam and Bobby were working tirelessly in the records their family had kept, but so far they had found nothing that would help gain entrance into the Roadhouse. Jo made sure every man was prepared and eager for what lay ahead, rallying them with her words so effectively that Dean was sure she would one day be as formidable a force as her mother.

Dean spent the evening with Sam and Bobby. They needed to find some way into the Roadhouse, so that they could break the siege before winter. If not, they would have to head to Helm’s Deep. It was not a journey Dean thought they could make. 

He woke the next morning with his face in a book. He cracked his back, groaning. Bobby was nowhere to be seen, and Sam was curled on the cushioned bench in the corner, a blanket covering his chest but hanging off the bench where his legs were folded up. When Dean rearranged the blanket so it covered his feet, Sam merely grumbled. He had still been awake in the last memory Dean had of the night, so no doubt he had stayed up even longer. Dean let him sleep and left for the Great Hall. 

Jo found him while he was washing down his breakfast with water. “Dean,” she said happily. “All the weapons are in order, and the men as well. We can move whenever we are ready.” 

Dean’s heart rose, but sank just as quickly. “We have still not found a way into the Roadhouse,” he said.

Jo frowned. “We don’t even know if there is one. I’ve been over every inch of the keep.”

“Sam and Bobby are working their way through my library,” Dean said. “I fell asleep with my nose in a book last night, trying to help them.”

Jo laughed. “Perhaps I’ll look through it with them,” she said. “I was always a faster reader than you.”

Dean ruffled her hair. She moved to bat his hand away, but caught it fast instead. “Seriously, Dean,” she said. “You look like you slept badly. Take a break for a few hours?”

“You aren’t your mother,” Dean grumbled. 

“You aren’t your mother,  _ my lady _ ,” Jo corrected. She patted him gently on the back and went off in the direction of the library. Dean looked at his plate, the remains of the crumbs that had broken apart from his bread, and stood to find Castiel. 

The elf was in the rooms that had been prepared for him. He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed. He opened them when Dean knocked. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hello,” Dean answered. “I thought you might like to see the beacon today.”

Castiel smiled and rose gracefully to his feet. “Yes,” he said. “If you have time.”

Dean did not, not really, but it was now or never, and Dean was determined not to be never. He stopped a servant to send word to Jo about where he was headed, and led the way deep into the keep, beyond the storage chambers, and on for another twenty paces, until they reached the bottom of the shaft. There was a platform, which through machinations Dean never understood, was connected to the waterfall.

Since he was making a trip up anyway, he loaded a month of supplies onto the platform. He stepped onto it, directed Castiel to sit at a corner, and pulled the lever. Water diverted, flowed through the wheel and wound the chain. Slowly, the platform began to rise. Dean sat down quickly, before it overbalanced. “We’ll be here for a while,” he told Castiel. Castiel nodded, and for a few minutes they traveled in silence. Before long the meager light from below disappeared and cloaked them in darkness. There was something about the shared stillness that felt intimate and made Dean uneasy, so to break it he began telling Castiel about what they would find once they reached the top. 

“The beacon is manned by six men, each on a six-month stay,” he said. “Two are always scanning the horizon, one in either direction. It is a tradition, on the first shift of a man’s stay, to try to distract them with wine and bawdy jokes.” Dean smiled, remembering the raucous game of cards that he had not been permitted to join. 

“Did your eyes wander?” Castiel asked.

“I was sixteen,” Dean laughed. “So yes. But never for long.”

“Sixteen?”

“All the men of my house must take a six-month immediately after we reach sixteen,” Dean explained. “Sam did as well.”

“I see.” Castiel said. “It must be a great honor.”

“It is.”

The temperature dropped as they rose higher. Dean pulled his cloak tighter about him, knowing full well the icy chill that would greet them at the top. “I must tell you not to mention anything of the situation with the Roadhouse. No news from below is permitted at the beacon.”

“To keep the men from being distracted?”

“Yes,” Dean said. “Like everything else, it is tradition.” Those words came out bitterly, as they always did. 

“Something about that troubles you?” Castiel asked.

Dean said nothing. In the darkness he could barely make out the shape of his companion, but he was sure Castiel could see him. There would be no hiding his anguish, even here.

“It was the winter my mother died,” Dean whispered. 

“And you did not…”

Dean shook his head. “My father did not even consider it.” He took a deep breath and was ashamed when it shook. “For nearly twenty years she was married to my father, and she knew as well as anyone the importance of the beacon. But I am told, in her fever, that she asked for me. Could not understand why I was not by her side.” It had been more than ten years, but the sting of it had not abated, even with his father dead. “I could not even send her a letter. I had no knowledge of it until I came down and she was not there to greet me.”

“I am sorry,” Castiel said, voice hushed respectfully. “I cannot imagine the depth of your pain.”

“It was a long time ago,” Dean said, and was not surprised at the unconvincing emptiness of the words.

They rode the rest of the way without speaking. Dean was glad when they reached the top, for the distraction of the chilly, open air. One of the men was waiting at the summit for their arrival, and when he saw Dean he bowed his head respectfully. “My lord.” He eyed Castiel curiously, but knew better than to ask for a reason for the strange guest.

“I have brought you extra supplies,” Dean said, gesturing to the wood and baskets of food he had stacked upon the platform. “Winter is fast approaching, and I wanted to take a look at your fuel.”

“Of course.”

Dean gestured to Castiel. “This is Castiel, visiting us from the House of Elrond in Rivendell. He has been so kind to grace us with his presence, and wished to see our rich legacy.”

“It is an honor,” the man replied. “If you will follow me?”

Dean watched for a moment as he and Castiel walked toward the beacon before turning to bring the supplies into the stone structure that them and the men.

Their supply of food was plentiful, but their wood was running lower than Dean would like, no doubt because of the storms. He would send up some more when they reached the bottom, just in case. No one was in the structure, so Dean ducked out to find them.

The two men whose turn it was to scan the horizon were doing so, but the other four were all gazing in another direction, where Dean knew there was nothing but the second peak. He pushed them aside hurriedly, gasping at what he found.

Castiel had walked all the way across the icy path to the second pinnacle of the mountain. It was only ever used in the summer, to see whether any of the rock below where they were standing had been eaten away in the winter. Even then, whom ever had volunteered was secured to the top of the mountain with three separate ropes. And Castiel was standing, straight as an arrow, at the farthest part without anything to tie him back.

“He’s insane,” one of the men murmured, and Dean would have agreed if his heart hadn’t leapt into his throat at the sight. His dark hair was whipping back and forth in the wind, and all it would take was one misstep and he would slide to his death.

A particularly hard gust of wind that caused Dean’s eyes to water loosened his throat. “Cas!”

Castiel turned so sharply that Dean almost cried out, and he raised his arm in greeting, saying something in return that was snatched away by the wind. 

“Get back here!” Dean shouted. 

Castiel came, running along the treacherous path swiftly and easily. He ran until he was close enough that Dean could see his wide smile, the two spots of pink high in his cheeks, either from the cold or exhilaration.

In his haste Dean had stumbled forward as far as he was able, to where the mountain was so narrow that only one man could stand. Castiel came to a stop mere inches from him, close enough that his long hair brushed against Dean’s face as it was caught in the wind. “I have never been so high before,” Castiel said. “You have given me the world.”

Dean swallowed unevenly. Castiel’s eyes were bright, and his normally still expression had given way to one of the most joyful smiles Dean had ever seen. Usually when he looked at Castiel just saw his friend, but now he felt like a maiden from a fable, struck dumb in the face of beauty. He couldn’t rally his throat say anything, but when a strand of Castiel’s hair caressed his face and dragged across his lips he shivered in a way that didn’t have anything to do with the wind. Castiel’s smile fell, but his still eyes burned, glued to Dean’s lips.

One of the men shifted behind him, his cloth rustling and Dean averted his eyes and stepped back. They stayed for a few more minutes, talking to the men. Dean reminded them to keep a closer eye on their supplies during the winter, and to send the men down with lists of what they needed when necessary.

They made their way down in silence. Dean still felt strange, a tight feeling gripping his chest that he didn’t have a name for making it difficult for him to speak.

They were greeted at the bottom by pandemonium. "What's going on?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know," Dean answered. People were milling around, taking containers of water and dried meat, and running off with them out of the storage area. Dean jumped up onto the nearest stack of wood. "Sam!" He called, waving his hand when he spotted his brother. "What's happening?"

Sam pushed through the crowd, grinning all the way. "We found a way into the Roadhouse. It's not certain but we think it will work. I gave the order to move out. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind," Dean said. "Do you think we'll be able to move out tonight?"

"Not everyone, but we should start. I think one of us should go down with the head of the column. I can -"

Dean shook his head. "I'll go. You've organized everything, you should be the one to see it through."

Someone pushed past him and knocked him off his balance. He almost fell but Castiel steadied him by his elbow and waist. "Thank you," Dean said, leaning into his touch more than he should have.

Sam was smarter than most people, and the way his eyes narrowed could mean only one thing. Sam's eyes cleared before Dean shook off his hands, but the damage was already done.

"And what of you, Castiel?" Sam asked. If Dean didn’t know him so well he would think that Sam was only politely curious.

“My cousin will return to the Roadhouse. I would see her as soon as possible,” Castiel said.

“Of course,” Sam said. “You should gather your things. Those who move out tonight will be ready to leave by the hour.”

Castiel left after only a brief glance backwards at Dean, but it was enough, with the other things Sam had seen that he caught Dean by the arm instead of letting him follow. “Dean,” he began, in a tone of voice that Dean had grown very familiar with over the years.

“Don’t,” Dean warned. “I’ve had enough lectures from you.”

“Clearly not,” Sam said. He frowned and crossed his arms, staring at Dean in disappointment.

“Enough,” Dean snapped. “I’m not listening to this again. It’s not your business to interfere with mine.”

“Your  _ business _ -” Sam scoffed.

“Fine,” Dean hissed. “This is none of your  _ affair _ .”

“You’re right,” Sam said. “If that is what it remains. I know you Dean, and this - I wondered in the meeting, you know, the way you look at him -”

Dean scoffed and turned on his heel, if only to hide his reaction. “I’ve no time for this,” he said, and left his brother among their stores.

They had not reconciled when it was time for Dean to leave, so Sam saw them off from a distance. Castiel looked at Dean quizzically as he turned his horse for the gate without offering a gesture of goodbye. “Is something wrong?” He asked.

Dean grunted. In the quiet moments while he was packing his things the words Sam said had started creeping into his thoughts. Even though it was he who called it an affair, his words had hurt. Castiel was starting to take up space in Dean’s thoughts, and he had been startled to realize that he was not sure when that had begun, or why he hadn’t noticed. “Just a squabble,” Dean said.

They made good progress down the mountain, blessed as they were this time with horses. Dean called a halt once they reached roughly halfway down, and observed the setup of the communal tents the horses and men would share. Once he was sure that everything was well underway, he helped the men begin the food preparation.

“You are cooking?” Castiel asked. Dean jumped, almost dropping the full bag of salt into the stew. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said. “What are you doing here?”

“You are the only one I know,” Castiel answered.

“You could change that, if you talked to people who aren’t me,” Dean said.

Castiel frowned slightly. “I believe I make them uneasy.” He tilted his head as he regarded Dean. “Am I being a bother to you?”

“No,” Dean said quickly. “That’s not what I meant.” He waved Castiel closer to the pot and shoved a spoon into his hand. “You can help me.” Castiel obliged, stirring the ingredients into the stew as Dean added them.

“Sometimes I think I make you uneasy as well,” Castiel said, breaking the silence.

Dean looked up. Castiel was looking into the pot, the slight frown still upon his face. It reminded Dean of the early days, when he’d mistaken Castiel’s solemnity for condescension. “At the beginning,” Dean told him. “And sometimes you take me by surprise even now. I forget that we are so different, and then you do something to remind me.”

“Are we different?” Castiel asked, holding his gaze.

“I am a man, and you are an elf,” Dean reminded him. “We are worlds apart.”

Castiel looked down. “It doesn’t feel that way,” he said softly.

“I know,” Dean hurried to assure him. He glanced around the tent. No one was near them. Most of the people were setting up their bedrolls. So far their conversation could be construed as innocent, which was probably the reason he had been able to hold it. He lowered his voice. “It doesn’t feel that way for me either.”

Castiel smiled.

Dean couldn’t help but smile back. “You should smile more often,” he said. “It suits you. And it would ingratiate you to the men.”

“Perhaps I haven’t much occasion to,” Castiel said.

“You smile at me,” Dean countered.

“Yes,” Castiel said, looking at him intently, no longer smiling.

Dean looked away. As it had on the beacon, his tongue felt clumsy and what he wanted to say sounded stupid in his mind.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Dean turned, glad to have an excuse to end the conversation and cursing that he hadn’t made any progress. “Yes?”

“The tents are secure, my lord,” a man said. “All the horses and the men are inside.”

“Excellent,” Dean said. “The food is almost finished. Tell the men to get their bowls.” The man bowed and left. Dean turned to Castiel. “Get ready,” Dean told him. “You’re serving today.” He switched the spoon in Castiel’s hand for a ladle, and laughed on the slightly alarmed expression on his face.

“Dean, wait -”

Dean stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Just relax,” he said. “Two spoonfuls per man, and if any of them try to get more send them running. I’ll get my bowl, you can start with me.”

Dean returned quickly. Some of the men were milling around, looking at Castiel consideringly, as if they couldn’t imagine him willing to serve them. Dean could hardly blame them. He’d thought the same when they had first met. He strode up to the pot and held out his bowl. Castiel ladled out two spoonfuls so exactly that Dean laughed. “You don’t have to be so stiff,” he said. “It’s just stew.”

Castiel nodded, but he still looked uncomfortable so Dean sat on the ground beside him and smiled at him encouragingly. “You’ll be fine.”

The first few men were cautious, but once it became clear that Castiel was serious about serving them they loosened up. They got rowdier as the line went on, and before long they began teasing him. The same thing had happened to Dean many times, and he bit back a smile as he listened to Castiel’s replies.

“Not afraid you’re going to get your clothes dirty?” a man asked.

“I can always wash them,” Castiel answered.

The next man stepped up. “Your hair is so pretty,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes like a maid in a story. “I hope none of it ends up in the stew.”

“It has not,” Castiel said. “I have been watching.”

Dean snorted, and the man being served laughed. Castiel’s mouth turned up into a pleased little smile.

“See?” Dean said, when the last man had been served. “Easy. You get your own bowl, I’ll take care of seconds.”

“I don’t have one,” Castiel said.

“Of course. Here, use mine,” Dean said, filling his own bowl and handing it to him.

Castiel took it. “Thank you.” He sat in the space Dean had just vacated, and Dean could feel the warmth of his body against his leg, even though they weren’t touching. In this moment, even though he was at the front of a war party, Dean felt content.

 

*

 

They reached the bottom of the road by afternoon of the next day, but Sam and the rest of their second force would have to camp on the mountain. Dean instructed the men to set up their camp. In the milder climate there would be no need to erect the communal tents, so he left the men to their individual tents or bedrolls and took Castiel with him to set up the command tent. 

The last time it was used was during a border skirmish between Gondor and Rohan, some hundred years ago. It had been no more than a formality - no blood was spilt, and no one used the tent to plan a battle or draw a line. It occurred to him suddenly, that this event would have to be written down somewhere, with his name, with his purpose. He shook of those thoughts and drew it out of it’s protective trunk.

The material of the tent was a dark black, his family's primary color. Their crest, a flame inside a passable imitation of the mountain, was picked out in different shades of red. Despite the years, the fabric had lost none of it’s richness, and once it was set up, it made for an impressive sight. If he were pressed, he would guess that it could comfortably fit thirty sleeping people within it, but only he, Sam, Jo, and Castiel would be staying there. Traditionally, sleeping within the tent was an honor for only the family. Jo was of higher rank, so he couldn’t turn her out even if he wanted to. Technically, he shouldn’t let Castiel sleep there, but it would be easy to rationalize it in the records because of his status of an honored guest.

He tied the door flaps back and stepped inside. The enclosed space had a musty odor to it, and the thick black cloth kept out the fading light, so the first thing he did was set up the torches and light a fire. Then he started making the space inside suitable for strategy.

It took a short time, as it should. Right now it was sparse, but when they reached the Roadhouse they would unpack more of the furniture and make it suitable for a long siege. As of yet, he only set up a handful of camp chairs and a singular table in the center, away from where he and Castiel would sleep.

Castiel, while he had been setting up, had kept a respectable distance, only assisting when Dean asked him and unpacking their own gear while Dean leafed through the folder Sam had sent down with him. He’d given Dean lists of men and supplies, and Dean took a moment to be thankful for his foresighted brother before using that list to set up a rotation of watches and guards. Once that was taken care of, Dean settled into one of the chairs to look at the supposed way into the Roadhouse.

Sam left him a note, saying that he was keeping the original document with him for the time being, but outlining a vague plan that revolved around an ancient tale about a hidden doorway. It was chancy at best, and Dean could feel a headache coming on. He’d already unfurled the tent - if his name was going to go down in the records he would rather not be known for grasping at straws.

“Here,” Castiel said, laying a bowl at Dean’s elbow. Dean glanced through the open flap, which revealed only darkness.

“Thank you,” he said. “I lost track of time.”

Castiel took the seat next to him, sampling from his own bowl. Dean wondered if one of the men had a spare, or whether they’d lent him one after they finished. Ludicrously, the second idea made him jealous. To distract him, he thrust Sam’s note at Castiel.

After he scanned it quickly, Castiel looked up. “We have stories,” he said, “Of those who have succeeded with less.”

“Myths,” Dean grunted. “Tall tales, you mean.”

“All our tales have a kernel of truth,” Castiel said. “Maybe yours do as well.”

“Perhaps,” Dean conceded. “So - we take care of those camped outside the walls, and then a few of us sneak in through the hidden doorway - if we can find it, if it exists - and then we hope that small number can fight their way through hordes of goblins, open the drawbridge, and not die in the process.”

“A battle worthy of song,” Castiel said.

Dean sighed. “I’d rather it weren’t. I’d rather it were easy.” He shook his head and stretched, cracking his back and groaning as his muscles protested at being kept sitting so long.

He startled when he felt Castiel step up behind him. He dug his fingers into the meat of Dean’s shoulders, massaging with steady pressure. “Don’t trouble your mind with that right now,” Castiel said. As he spoke his hands moved with surety, pressing until Dean relaxed into them. “Don’t trouble yourself with anything,” he murmured, moving his hands up, tracing the line where Dean’s hair greeted his scalp, brushing the space behind Dean’s ear.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked hoarsely. “We can’t be discovered.”

Castiel’s hands stilled. “Of course not,” he said. “I will leave you to your thoughts, Lord Winchester,” he added, and with that he took his hands away.

His words felt like a slap, and he wondered whether that had been intended. Castiel hadn’t called him by his title while they were alone in what felt like forever. He turned and watched Castiel arrange his separate bedding, and after that did not bear watching anymore he strode out into the night.

The camp was arrayed around them, with fires keeping the darkness at bay. His men were gathered around fires with their friends, sharing the warmth. He could join them if he wished - for all that he was their lord he knew any one of them would welcome him. But none of their fires or jokes would warm him as much as Castiel’s hands on his shoulders could. He thought about that, and he thought about Sam’s words. If this were an affair, he would sit down with his men and not regret it come morning.

Sam had always been smarter than him. Dean turned back to the command tent and let the door flap fall behind him. Castiel was lying down already, facing away from the entrance, atop his bedroll and Dean moved quickly to extinguish all the torches. Once the last was out he stumbled forward in the dark. In his haste he tripped on Castiel and fell over.

“Castiel,” he whispered. “Let me - let me.”

Castiel said nothing, but he let Dean push his shirt up until his skin was exposed to Dean’s touch. Dean dragged his fingers over the lines of his muscles, kissing his way down until his nose was in Castiel’s belly.

He yanked at Castiel pants, surprised at how desperate his hands were, how desperate his breathing sounded in the still air. He needed Castiel on his tongue, needed - needed Castiel. He didn't have a habit of handing out his heart, but it was beyond that now. Castiel had taken it for himself under the cover of darkness long ago, and Dean needed to tell him this, needed to make him understand even though he didn't have the words that Dean didn't mind.

Castiel fisted his hands into his hair when Dean sucked him down, spread his legs. “Dean,” he murmured, a catch in his throat. It was the closest thing to an uncontrolled sound that Dean had heard from him, and he sucked him harder to hear it again.

Usually Castiel came when he wanted, always controlled. It was a surprise, then, when he came down Dean’s throat after only a few short minutes and no warning. Dean had already begun to stroke himself, and he gasped when Castiel pulled him up. For a second he kneeled above him as he felt his own pleasure soar higher and higher. Then Castiel, took a handful of Dean’s hair and pulled until he was being kissed.

Had Dean hazarded a guess before this, he might have imagined that Castiel would kiss the same way he did everything else: to the point and efficient. This kiss wasn’t like that at all. This kiss was the way Castiel smiled at him in their private moments, how Castiel leaned forward sometimes and shared a joke, or a breath, or the excitement of a battle well fought. This kiss was soft and gentle and everything Dean hadn’t dared hope it would be.

Dean came with a whimper pressed into the space between Castiel’s teeth and lips.

With Castiel so far, he had kept a certain distance, always making sure that however close they became he was quick to separate. This time, though, he stayed breathing against Castiel’s lips. Castiel’s hand was still in his hair, and Dean raised his own to brush across the tips of his ears. “Cas,” he whispered, unable to say more than that. "Cas."

“Shh,” Castiel said, and kissed Dean once more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

 

 

The arrival of Sam the next day, with the extra men and all his judgement, naturally dampened Dean’s spirits. But even though his presence made it clear that what Dean needed to be focused on was battle strategy and an offensive plan instead of his personal feelings, he couldn’t shake the buoyant feeling in his chest. Suddenly everything that had Dean concerned for so long was easily brushed aside. What cause had he to worry: Castiel had kissed him and held him throughout the night like a lover. 

It was as if the rest of the world was on his side, for Sam and Jo had discovered more information about this secret door, and nothing they had found suggested that it was a fiction. According to the records, the inner door would put them close to the front gates, in an area of the keep that was notoriously and inexplicably drafty. The good news seemed to have a cheering effect even on Sam, who didn’t try to make Dean hear his disapproval. 

Victor rode in to meet them at the appointed junction right on time. In another stroke of luck, a small company of men rode with him, the remnants of the roamers who had been out when the Roadhouse was taken, adding even more experienced men to their numbers. He also brought carts full of salted meat and bread. It bolstered them more than Dean had dared hope, and now that all the parties were here, they began planning their strategy. 

It was decided that a surprise attack would be best. A company of the faster and more experienced riders would circle around to the south and attack from the forest. The bulk of their forces would travel down the road and engage their enemy that way. Between the two fronts they would hope to confuse the goblins, perhaps even enough into tricking those inside the stronghold to aid their comrades. Dean doubted it would come to that - goblins were above all else selfish and cowardly. 

Assuming they did not, they would have to set up for siege, and trust in the information Sam found. 

“How shall we split up the forces?” Sam asked.

“Henrickson and I will lead the men around to the south. The rest of you should lead the charge,” Dean said.

Dean and the others set out that night. They would camp in the far side of the forest and come daybreak, their plan would be set in motion.

In the end, the battle was simpler than Dean anticipated. The havoc that he and Castiel had caused on their own was multiplied, and as soon as the bulk of their force charged down the road what composure the goblins had was a thing of the past. They bolted, shrieking, and it was a simple matter to cut them down as they tried to flee. As Dean expected, the drawbridge remained closed. 

He and a few of the other roamers chased the stragglers into the forest. It would not do to have them return to slit their throats in the night. 

After they ferreted out as many as they could, Dean returned to the Roadhouse. Sam had already set up the command tent, and Victor had unfurled his own, smaller one beside it. 

“A great victory,” Sam greeted him when he came in the tent. 

“An easy rout,” Dean countered. They had lost a few men, and seeing them cut down diminished his foolish enthusiasm somewhat. “What comes next will be more difficult.”

Sam nodded and gestured to the bowl of water set up in one of the corners. Dean washed the blood from his hands and face and returned to the table. Sam was crouched behind it, and when Dean looked to see what had his attention he saw that the soil had been cleared away from a section of stone. "You found it already?" Dean asked incredulously. "When did you have time for this?"

Sam shrugged and kept sweeping away dirt. "I expected it to be more difficult too, but we were lucky."

"I'll say," Dean said. Jo laughed from where she was poring over the maps of the Roadhouse laid out on the table. It was only then that Dean noticed an absence. “Where’s Castiel?” he asked.

Sam paused in his work. “He’s fine,” he said, meeting Dean’s gaze. “He said he wanted to search the goblin camp.” He narrowed his eyes and Dean knew he wanted to raise the issue. Dean gave thanks that Jo was there. His brother may be many things but he knew what to keep from others, even friends as close as Jo. 

“I shall return quickly,” Dean promised. 

He found Castiel in the remnants of the tent he had been kept in. The throne of bones was just as grisly trampled as it had been whole. 

“I was not pleased,” Castiel said without looking around. “When you deemed that I was not to go with you.”

Dean paused. He had been so caught up in his fervor, so focused when making plans he had not stopped to consider what Castiel might think about them. “We needed to know the region,” he said. “We were riding in darkness.”

“I was not there.” He still had not turned to face Dean. “I could not help you if you required it.”

“You said yourself that I was more than capable,” Dean said. 

“That does not make it easier to watch you ride away,” Castiel answered. 

“I’m…” Dean began. “Not sorry.”

Castiel sighed. “I know.” He turned around, his chain mail in his hands. 

“You found it,” Dean said. 

“Yes,” Castiel said. He held it out. “I want you to have it.”

Dean eyed it. There was no doubt that it was worth a fortune, beautiful as it was. “It’s mithril,” Castiel said, confirming its value. “There is very little that can pierce it. My father gave it to me.”

“I can’t accept that,” Dean said. “I’m much too coarse for the likes of such things.”

“I will be the judge of that,” Castiel snapped. Dean crossed his arms and glared. After a moment Castiel’s face softened. “It is mine, to do with as I wish. I want you to have it.” 

“Cas -”

“Please.”

Dean huffed and crossed his arms. He should reject it - outward signs of favor would not serve them well in the long run - but Castiel kept up his gaze and eventually Dean nodded, unwilling to deny him. “Very well then.”

He held out his hands, but instead of handing the mail over Castiel stepped closer and began working on the fastenings of Dean’s leather. Dean pushed him away but picked up where he had left off. 

Castiel’s eyes on him felt almost as intimate as his hands did, and every inch of Dean was aware that the ruined tent they were standing in was far from private. The light breeze traveled through the rents in the cloth, pushing them wider, offering glimpses of the outside world. In the distance, Dean could dimly hear the noises of the campaign, spokes hammered into the ground to set up their tents, the horses stamping their feet, and the jests of the men as they celebrated the victory. Inside their shared space, only the sound of his clothing broke the silence as he pulled his chain from his body, leaving only his undershirt. 

He took the offered mail from Castiel and put it on. 

“Good,” Castiel said. His eyes burned and even though he had not touched him Dean felt his arousal kindled. He stepped closer and placed his hand over Dean’s heart. Dean could feel the pressure of it easily through the thin, light, links of chain. “it gives me much joy to see you kept safe with my regard.” He picked up Dean’s leather from where it had fallen and slipped it over Dean’s head. “To know that even if I am not with you, none shall be able to touch you with their weapons, because I have forbidden it.” He stepped behind Dean to do up the laces on his back, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Your flesh," he said, sliding one of his hands across Dean's stomach and pulling him back to that they were pressed together - "Is not for them.”

“Castiel,” Dean breathed. 

His other hand landed on Dean’s shoulder. “Hush,  _ melamin _ .” He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of Dean’s neck, and was gone between one breath and the next.

Dean stayed in the tent for a long time, reliving Castiel's actions and playing with the light mail, but it was not yet dark when he returned to the command tent. Fires were being lit and men were watching the Roadhouse cautiously. If there was to be an attack from the goblins, it would come when darkness fell, and their enemies' strength was at their peak while their own was not. Dean spared the keep one final look before ducking into the tent. 

Jo, Sam, and Castiel were all within, as was Hendrickson. As he entered, the four of them looked up. “Let Dean decide,” Sam urged, clearly in mid-argument with Jo. 

“Let Dean decide what?” Dean asked. 

“Jo believes we would do better to attack the Roadhouse right away, but Sam is urging more caution,” Hendrickson explained. 

“Surely we are a bit beyond the realms of caution,” Dean said. 

Jo nodded eagerly. “Exactly,” she said. “Every moment we spend sitting around is a moment spent in risk.”

“But we will only get one shot at retaking the Roadhouse,” Sam countered. “If we do not succeed we will be battered to pieces, with only a few of us left. We must be assured of victory. Let us wait a few days -”

“For what?” Dean asked.

“For Ellen to return with reinforcements,” Sam said. 

Jo shook her head and crossed her arms. “And if she doesn’t come back with help?” she asked. “We will have sat back and allowed the goblins to examine us and pick apart our weaknesses while we run out of supplies.”

“What do you think, Victor?” Dean asked. “Castiel?”

“It’s a long shot either way,” Hendrickson said. “I would have you decide.”

“It isn’t my place,” Castiel said. 

Dean sighed and braced himself upon the table, surveying the breakdown Sam had set up in his absence. 

“Sam is right,” he said. “We only have one shot at this. If we enter the Roadhouse and fail to open the gates all those inside will perish, and we would be forced to try to starve them out. We have no chance of that, and even if Theoden sends the entire Rohirrim it is unlikely we could drive them out before the snows set in and we perish.”

No one offered an argument, so Dean continued. “The whole plan revolves around entering the keep with enough stealth to open the gates before the goblins are alerted to our presence, and waiting will not help us there. We should strike tomorrow morning.”

Sam balked visibly at that, barking his name and starting forward. Even Jo looked apprehensive. “Dean,” she began, “Shouldn’t we wait a day more at least? The chances of my mother returning are not high, I know that, but we should plan this carefully.”

“If we do not mobilize soon the goblins will begin to wonder why,” Dean said. “They will be waiting for terms, and if they see the men marshalling they will probably think it is a function of that, not of some plot. Tomorrow morning is our ideal time.”

“I don’t like it,” Sam said. 

“I am not asking you to,” Dean replied.

Sam shook his head but acquiesced. “Who is to go through the passageway then?” he asked. “Who ever it is, they must have an intimate knowledge of the place, and be skilled fighters.”

“I shall,” Dean decided.

“I’ll go with you,” Jo said. 

“No,” Dean said. 

An angry flush rose in Jo’s cheeks. “It’s my home,” she said. “I know it better than you.”

“That may be so,” Dean said, “But your fighting skills are with archery, not close combat, and I can’t fight properly if I’m also worried about protecting you.”

For a long moment, Jo stared at him from across the table. Dean held her gaze, knowing that she would see the wisdom in his words soon enough until she looked away and stomped out into the night, but not before driving her knife hilt deep into the table.

“That was,” Henrickson said slowly, “Incredibly foolish. She will not be quick to forget this.”

“She knows that I’m right,” Dean said. 

“Who else?” Sam asked. “You can’t go alone.”

Dean tapped his fingers against the table. Sam was the ideal choice, but though he knew full well that Sam could handle himself in a fight, he would be just as preoccupied with his safety as he would be with Jo. And the other men, Victor and the rest… they were decent fighters, but he didn’t want to die with them.

“Castiel,” he said. “Would you do me the honor?”

“Of course,” Castiel said. “If you are sure.”

“I am,” Dean said.

Victor sighed beside him, but didn’t argue. “It is decided then,” he said. “I will spread the word among the men, tell them to be ready.” He nodded to them before taking his leave. “Good luck.”

“We should use the cover of darkness to gather some rocks to place over our side of the passage,” Dean said. “If we fail, the last thing we want is goblins springing out of the ground into your midst.”

Sam pursed his lips but nodded his head. They ducked out of the tent and to find night upon them, and though it was dark they quickly amassed a large enough pile of rocks to keep the passageway contained.

Jo decided to spend the night in Hendrickson's tent in a fit of pique, but when Dean lay down his head upon the ground he did not have trouble finding sleep. He had always rested better when he had a plan, even if if the outcome of it was less than certain.

The next morning, Castiel and his light feet made their way down the tunnel alone while Dean and Sam waited above for him to return. It would not do to set their plan in motion only to be foiled by a cave in. Dean had thought Sam would take the empty tent as an invitation to interrogate him, but to his surprise his brother was silent. 

Castiel returned bearing good news. “It is cramped, and there are a few places where the walls have narrowed or the ceilings sunk over time, but it is passable,” he said. “Are you ready?”

Dean nodded. “Give me a moment,” he said, standing and drawing Sam away. He felt like he should say something profound, but in the end he simply embraced him, hoping it would speak better. 

Sam returned the hug briefly before pulling back. “Good luck,” he said. “I’ll move the rocks as soon as you are down, but perhaps you should wait a few minutes to make sure they are in place.”

Castiel stepped back to make room for Dean, and he nodded one final time to his brother before making his way a little into the passageway. Sam closed the door upon them, enshrouding the already cramped space in darkness and making it feel even smaller. Dean listened to the scraping above until it stopped. “Onwards,” he whispered. 

“Can you see anything?” Castiel asked.

“No.”

Castiel found his hand in the dark and took it before creeping down the passageway. Dean tightened his grip and followed, glad to have something to hold onto besides the cold dirt of the wall. 

The passage was long and twisting. Without any light it felt like they might be trapped, stumbling, forever, but at long last Castiel stopped. Dean looked in the direction beyond, and could see a few tiny spots of light breaking through what must be the door. 

“Ready?” Castiel asked quietly. 

“Wait,” Dean whispered. His heart hammered in his chest and he knew this was not the right time to have this conversation, but for them it seemed just, for this to be done in the dark, before a battle, before the outcome. He tightened his grip on Castiel’s hand and pressed his other over it. “I know that the world is cruel, and the future uncertain, but - if we survive this, and I asked…” He swallowed hard, desperately thankful for the privacy the dark afforded him. “Cas, would you stay? With me?”

Castiel did not say anything, but Dean nearly jumped when he felt Castiel’s lips press against his forehead. A low mumble of elvish followed, and though Dean did not understand the words the answer to his question was clear. His heart soared even as Castiel took his hand back and closed the remaining distance to the door. Dean loosened his sword and followed. Castiel listened for a moment, and then he pushed on the stone.

Dean winced as a horrible grinding noise heralded his progress and added his own strength. Together they forced their way into the hall. 

There were no goblins in sight, but as Dean gathered his bearings a group rounded the corner. “We need to go right,” he told Castiel as he drew his sword. “Straight through them.”

Castiel ran swiftly and silently toward the goblins, who were frozen in either shock or confusion. Before they could raise the alarm he was upon them, and he slew them as quietly as he ran. Dean grinned as he caught up. “Left along this hallway,” he directed. “Then a right at the end. The gate room will be across the great hall.”

Castiel nodded. They peered around the corner, and when they found the corridor empty they hurried down it. Castiel motioned for Dean to stay back as he neared the entryway to the hall. He looked through and turned back to Dean with a downward tilt to his mouth. 

“How many?” Dean mouthed. 

Castiel shook his head. Too many to count, then. He reached to Dean’s neck, slid his fingers beneath Dean’s outer layer and pressed against the mail. He nodded once, seemingly satisfied.  _ What about you?  _ Dean ached to ask. 

Castiel raised his brows and Dean nodded. Together they ran into the Great Hall. 

The first few feet were easy, but Dean quickly saw what had caused Castiel such worry. It seemed as though the goblins were using the great hall as a gathering place - every table had its own cluster of the brutes.

He and Castiel slew a few a piece before the horde sprang into action. Then it was chaos as the goblins took up their arms and rushed at them. Without such a fierce fighter by his side, Dean was sure he would be unable to make any forward progress. 

Castiel was a vision in battle. Dean didn’t spare his concentration to watch his companion, but he could feel his swift movements at his side and wished he could simply step aside and watch him. As it was, he kept his eyes only on their destination and the enemy. 

It was slow going, especially once they began making headway and the goblins flanked them. They were forced to slow their pace to keep an eye on their backs, and even keeping the wall to one side Dean knew they would eventually be overrun by a misstep or an unlucky thrust.

“Can you get to the door?” Dean asked, voice low. 

Castiel spun and drove his blade into the chest of one who had been about to strike down at Dean with his sword. 

“If I leave you,” Castiel said, before blocking a strike. 

“Do it,” Dean told him. “That above all else.” 

Castiel’s face twisted unhappily, but he nodded. “I need assistance,” he said, moving so Dean was between him and his destination. He eyed the line of goblins in their way. “Break their line for me.”

Dean took a deep breath and lashed out, swinging his sword in a huge arch. He beheaded two of them and caught a third in shoulder. The ones remaining drew back a fraction, just enough to create a gap for Castiel to run through. The goblins behind the front line couldn’t raise their weapons in time to block Castiel’s advance, and in a few short moments he disappeared into the gatehouse, and the heavy door slammed shut, closing him in.

Without his friend Dean’s fight was much more arduous, but he hoped that when the gates opened the ones surrounding him would rush off to deal with the rest of their force. Sure enough, when he heard the telltale creak of the gates opening most ran off to deal with that. There were still a considerable amount of enemies for him to contend with. He could feel his energy flagging as he deflected strike after strike, and though their ranks were thinner it still felt like he was making little headway towards the gatehouse. 

After what felt like an age, he finally made it to the corner where the wall and abutting door met. It was tempting, so tempting to bang on the door and ask Castiel for assistance, but he knew he had to hold his own, prevent control of the gates from falling back into the goblins hands at all costs. Still, that did not start his arms from trembling, and it did not make the formidable foes still facing him any less so.

Eventually he slew the last one. A quick survey of the hall told him it  _ was  _ the last one, not a mirage, and he turned and pounded on the door. “Cas,” he called, voice hoarse from exertion, “It’s me. Let me in.”

“The door swung open at the same time that Dean heard the sound of an arrow winging his way toward him, and more importantly toward Castiel, vulnerable and exposed beside him. Dean spun sideways, just in time to catch the arrow in his chest instead of in Castiel’s. 

Even with the mithril coat Castiel had given him, he was struck with enough force to knock the wind out of him and fall back. “Dean!” Castiel’s arms grasped him around the chest and lowered him to the floor. 

“Door,” Dean managed to croak out. 

Castiel leapt to slam the door shut again, just in time to shut out the sight of another arrow pointed in their direction. 

“You,” Castiel began, kneeling at Dean’s side and hauling him into a sitting position by his shirt to shake him. “You foolish man. How  _ dare  _ you.”

Dean frowned at him. “I’m fine,” he said. “Worth it in any case.” He reached up to lay a hand on Castiel’s side, feel the life of him. 

“No,” Castiel said, slapping his hand away. “Don’t - don’t do that.” His eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but Dean, and he knew it was so as not to imagine what might have happened. Castiel had already had to heal him once, knew what Dean looked like half dead with an arrow sticking out of him. And that was before. 

“Hey,” Dean said, catching his hand. There was pounding on the door, goblins scratching at the wood with their weapons, but he ignored it, trusted the thick wood bar to keep them out and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m alright. Thanks to you.”

Castiel turned to look him in the eyes and ran his thumb along the line of Dean’s cheek. “There is only one of you,” he said. His hand was shaking.

“There’s only one of _ you _ ,” Dean countered. 

Castiel bowed his head, and after a moment he drew back and sat on his heels. “You are impossible,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a fond smile on his face. He stood and pulled Dean up with him. “Do you think this is working?”

“They’ve understood our purpose here,” Dean said as the noises on the other side of the door intensified. “They know their only chance is to retake this room.”

As he spoke the distinct sound of an axe slamming into the wood began. The door was thick oak, Dean knew, and hadn’t been replaced in his memory. Despite it’s age, he knew it would not hold out forever. 

The door stayed in one piece for a decent while. Castiel kept a wary eye on it while Dean took the opportunity to examine the damage the arrow had caused him. His ribs felt badly bruised, but he could take full breaths without pain and only had slight trouble swinging his arms about him. It could certainly have been much worse.

“Dean,” Castiel warned, shifting his position to one of readiness beside the door. The wood creaked and on the next strike it splintered, offering them a glimpse of iron. 

Dean nodded and crept to the other side of the door, so that they could not be shot through the steadily widening gap. Now that the door had given way, they could hear the snarls and curses of the goblins on the other side.

Before long, one of the goblins made the mistake of sticking his hand through the wood. Dean struck it off for his trouble, and the cursing and swinging of the axe renewed. Then there was silence, and the sounds of battle being joined. Either the goblins had turned on each other, or a group of their own had burst into the hall.

Dean waited with bated breath until the clash of metal stopped. 

“My lord?” a human voice called out. “Are you still alive in there?”

Dean peered through the splintered wood to see a small group of men standing amongst the slain enemy. “We are unharmed,” Dean assured them. “How goes the battle?”

“The others are breaking into the inner reaches of the keep now,” one of the men told him. “We were tasked with safeguarding this place.”

“Excellent,” Dean said. “Victory draws near.”

After only a few minutes, more men made their way to the hall, driving groups of goblins into hall from the adjoining corridors. As the amount of men grew, this happened with less regularity, until it was Sam and the rest coming in on horseback. Sam’s eyes immediately sought him out behind the wood, and when their eyes met he grinned, exhaustion obvious in the slump of his shoulders but exhilaration present in his expression. “We’ve done it,” he called. “We’ve driven them out.”

Castiel turned to him, squeezing his hand out of sight behind what was left of the door. “They will write songs about you,” he told him. 

Dean smiled back. “Songs about us,” he corrected, before pushing the heavy bar up and stepping into the hall.

*

 

That evening there was a feast, and Dean and the rest of the men got properly drunk. Even Jo seemed to have forgiven him somewhat, and she made sure his flagon was full and joined in on the off-key melody one of the men had composed. It was truly terrible, but under the effect of the mead even that seemed hilarious and he fell into his own bed late that night with a smile on his face. 

The next day was spent clearing out the Roadhouse of all the goblin corpses, and assessing the general state of the keep. It was a boring process, better suited to people like Sam and Jo, so once the goblins were roasting on a pyre Dean slipped past the walls and strode to the remains of their camp.

The tents had all been taken down, to be stored inside the Roadhouse until they were returned to their proper holds, but it was easy to find where they had stood, as the pile of rocks Sam had placed on top of the door was still there. Dean stood next to them, wondering whether it would be better to leave it uncovered or not, whether the stone looked out of place and would draw attention. Eventually he gave up and sat on them. With all the goblins in the keep destroyed, there was little chance of word getting out. 

Castiel found him when the last of the sunlight was fading beyond the mountains. When Dean looked up he said, “Your brother sent me to find you. There is going to be another feast.”

“We retook the Roadhouse for the supplies, and now they will be gone in two days regardless,” Dean mused.

Castiel chuckled and took a seat beside him. He felt warm in the late air. “Sam deemed it fit once he looked over the stores, and your brother is… quite perceptive.” 

“Oh,” Dean said, shame making him squirm. He should have been the one to have uncomfortable conversations with Sam, not Castiel. “You needn’t listen to him, he - he meddles where he shouldn’t.”

Castiel hummed and stood up. “We should go,” he said. “It’s getting cold.”

The feast was no less rowdy this time, but thankfully there were fewer renditions of the terrible ballads. Dean drank less, and once it was plain no one had any intention of stopping their merriment until the morning he excused himself, stroking Castiel’s leg beneath the table before he stood. Sam watched him go with suspicious eyes - he’d been shooting Dean judging glances ever since he and Castiel walked into the room together - but Dean ignored him. 

He had scarcely entered before Castiel let himself in, locking the door behind him. Dean smiled, charmed by how easily Castiel availed himself of Dean’s space, like he belonged. Like he was meant to be there, meant to slide his hands over Dean’s body. “You’re beautiful,” Dean said, alcohol-loosened tongue allowing him to speak truths that would embarrass him under normal circumstances. 

Castiel rubbed his thumb across Dean’s lip. “As are you,  _ a’mealamin _ .”

“What does that mean?” Dean asked. “What do you say to me when I can’t understand?”

Castiel only smiled before kissing him. Dean let him keep his secret for now and opened his mouth, turning the kiss deep and intimate, drugging in its intensity. All too soon, he had to pull away to breathe. “Do you have oil here?” Castiel whispered to his cheek.

Dean shook his head, cursing his shortsightedness. He should have spent his time in his hideaway instead of in introspection. 

Castiel stepped back, drawing his hand along Dean’s cheek before making his way to the door. “Wait,” Dean said, frustrated and not sure why he had to be. “We could do other things,” he pointed out. 

Eyes flicking toward the bed, Castiel seemed to consider that. “We could,” he acknowledged, coming forward and pressing at Dean’s arousal through his trousers. He dropped his voice to a whisper and spoke directly into Dean’s ear. “But the next time I lay a hand on you it will be while I am buried inside you.” He backed away. 

Dean’s throat clicked as he swallowed. “You,” he said, voice hoarse. “You are wicked.” Despite his words, he could not quite keep himself from smiling.

“Am I?” Castiel asked. 

“Very cruel,” Dean said. 

Castiel smiled before opening the door. “Sleep well, Dean,” he said. 

 

*

 

The next day, on his way to breakfast, Sam ambushed him, drawing him into his own chambers. Dean sighed and let himself be dragged along. The sooner Sam spoke his piece, the sooner Dean could leave, and he had oil to collect. “What?” he asked. 

“If you won’t let me convince you that this is a bad idea, you need to be more careful,” Sam said. “People will notice if you keep staring at him like a lovelorn maiden.”

“Maybe they  _ won’t  _ if  _ you  _ don’t keep glaring,” Dean countered. “And so what if they do?” he shrugged. “They don’t decide who I love.” He caught himself but it was too late.

Sam gaped at him, mouth opening and closing a few times before he blinked and shook his head. “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was that… does he feel the same?”

Dean crossed his arms, defensive in spite of his surety. “Of course he does.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Sam said. “You, I can tell, but -”

“You don’t know him,” Dean said. 

“And you do?” Sam scoffed. “You’ve barely even met him.”

For a moment, Dean just stood there, staring at the man who claimed to be his brother. “Why,” he asked, “Are you so determined to ruin things for me?”

Sam shook his head. “I just want -”

“What?” Dean asked. “To plant to doubt in my mind? To make me question the things that I know? The things that make me happy?”

“Dean -”

“Stop,” Dean said. “Just - just stop.”

He pushed past Sam and out into the hallway, making his way to the Great Hall and eating some bread even though he no longer felt hungry. He was just considering what to do next with the jittery, strange feeling in his chest when he saw Castiel across the hall. He jumped up and all but ran to him. “Can we get out of here?” He said apropos of nothing. “Please?”

“Of course,” Castiel said, alarmed. “Dean, what’s wrong?” 

Dean shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “I just want to be somewhere else, for a while.”

“Alright,” Castiel said. “Let’s go.”

They left the keep on horseback, and Dean wanted to take vindictive pleasure in Sam’s face as he watched them ride off together, but he wasn’t able to. He hunched his shoulders and avoided his gaze instead, and didn’t relax even when they were out of sight and alone.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked. The obvious concern in his voice eased the tension in Dean’s shoulders, reminded Dean that he was right and Sam’s opinion was false. 

He smiled at Castiel gratefully. “I will be,” he said. “I just needed to get away from - from everything.”

“I see,” Castiel said. “Is there anything I can do?”

Dean shook his head, and they rode on in silence. For a while Dean led them on a circuitous route, no real destination in mind, but as the sun rose in the sky he turned them toward the copse. It felt strange leading Castiel there - he didn’t know whether this action would seem forward - but he needed to go there eventually.

Although it hadn’t been that long since they’d last been here, the space seemed very different. The stream was smaller, snow staying frozen when it froze in the mountains. The ground was wet as the sun melted the morning’s frost. All the green had turned to yellow in preparation for winter, and it was strange that their surroundings felt so dead when Dean’s feelings had just begun to grow. 

They sat down, and for a moment Dean pretended that they had some other purpose here, but his patience wore thin and he crawled to his stores. He tended to stockpile and use them haphazardly, so there were several half-full flasks to choose from. Eventually he gave up trying to decide which would last longest, and grabbed three of them at once. 

He turned around to find Castiel watching him, a playful smile on his face. “Planning something?” he asked. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Someone,” he said pointedly, “Gave me an ultimatum.”

“Not an ultimatum,” Castiel said. “A promise.” He tipped his head back and to the side, exposing the line of his neck. His fingers flattened against the ground. It was a simple movement, but unmistakably intimate in its intent.

“You want to - ” Dean began. “Now?”

“I always want to touch you,” Castiel said. 

“Then touch me,” Dean challenged. 

The air was too cold, the ground too wet for them to take off their clothes, so Dean got on his knees and arranged his clothing just enough to grant Castiel access. In many ways it felt familiar, slick fingers easing the way, coaxing him open. The similarities ended when Castiel slid in; left hand covering Dean’s and interlacing their fingers while his right caressed the side of his face, guiding him into a kiss. Dean moaned into it, louder when Castiel began to move. 

“I don’t understand you,” Castiel whispered, digging his fingers into Dean’s jaw. “I don’t understand myself when I’m with you.”

“Cas,” Dean gasped when Castiel took him in hand. He never lasted long with Castiel, and this time would not be an exception. “Cas.”

“How can you be?” Castiel continued. “How can you be, Dean? How can you be everything?”

“I love you,” Dean said, desperately. “I love you, Cas.”

Castiel gasped and came, lips and teeth scraping along Dean’s jaw. The hand covering Dean’s tightened painfully, but his grip where Dean was still hard remained gentle. He began to stroke him again. “Let me bring you pleasure,  _ melamin.”  _

Dean came after only a moment, when Castiel kissed him again.  _ I love you,  _ he thought dizzily as he caught his breath. It was as though now that he’d said it out loud he couldn’t stop feeling it. 

They rode toward the keep a few hours later. “I could kiss you forever,” Dean had said, and Castiel seemed intent on making him prove it. When they finally stopped and began to gather their things to return, Dean felt huge, giddy from the elvish Castiel whispered into his skin. Once again, he’d refused to tell Dean what his words meant, but Dean knew that there was a lexicon in Ellen’s library, so he didn’t push too hard. He would find him out eventually.

When the Roadhouse came into view, Dean had to once again draw up his horse at the sight of an encampent. This time, at least, the people camped around the walls did so under the flag of the Rohirrim. “Lady Ellen returned with help after all,” Castiel observed. 

“It seems so,” Dean said. He kicked his horse back into a walk. 

Once they stabled their horses, they went to the Hall. As they walked, Dean reflected that the number of men at their gates would not even make up a fraction of the might of the Rohirrim. He had never harbored much hope that Theoden would send his men, and the comparatively small number meant that someone must have argued their case and come with volunteers. Dean had a good idea who.

The doors swung open to reveal a small number of men being entertained by Ellen and the rest. Dean’s eyes looked them over, landing on their leader. “Dean,” he called once their eyes met. “We were wondering where you were.”

Dean crossed the distance and knelt at his feet, kissing his hand. “My lord,” he greeted. 

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” He asked.

“Theodred,” Dean said warmly, standing up and taking him in an embrace. “It has been many years.”

“Too many,” Theodred agreed. 

Castiel stepped up beside them, and Dean stepped back to make introductions. “This is Castiel of Rivendell,” Dean said. “He has made himself most dear to us.”

“I have heard,” Theodred said, looking him over with eyes that would make a fine king one day. “It is a shame you have not greeted us at Edoras before this.”

Castiel bowed his head. “I too regret that I have not seen your halls, my lord.”

“You must come with us when we return,” Theodred said. “My father will want to meet you. Annael spoke highly of your skill in battle.”

Castiel’s back straightened. “My cousin is here?”

“She retired to her chambers,” Ellen spoke. “We rode long miles today, thinking we would face a battle at the end.”

“I see,” Castiel said. “I beg your leave to go and see her.”

Ellen nodded and Castiel left. Theodred watched him go before clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder and drawing him further into the hall. “You should come with us tomorrow as well, Dean,” he said. “Our ranks have not been the same since you left.”

“I’m afraid I could not leave now, in the aftermath of such turbulence.”

Theodred stopped and looked at him consideringly. “You have changed, since last we parted. The man I knew would leap at the chance to escape his duties.”

Dean frowned and stood a little straighter, and Theodred laughed. “I don’t mean that as an insult,” Theodred assured him. “The opposite, in fact. Still. You should ride with us for a season. My cousin has never had the pleasure of watching you in battle. He is more skilled than I, and it would do him some good to have competition again.”

“I will as soon as I am able,” Dean promised. 

“I suppose that will have to do for now,” Theodred said. “Come, sit with me and tell me your tales.”

The presence of royalty meant that for the third night in a row the Roadhouse played host to a feast. This one was much more subdued than the previous ones, more about courtesy than anything. Dean spent it with Theodred and some of the other Rohirrim, swapping stories of their exploits. 

The hours passed quickly, and when Dean excused himself many had already left the hall. His brother was still in deep conversation with Ellen, but Castiel and Annael were absent. He hadn’t seen them leave. Theodred was intent on taking him to Edoras in the morning. Dean was tempted to go so as not to be without Castiel’s company, but he could not justify that. Still, he wished to see him before he rode off. He couldn’t just storm into his rooms now that Annael was back to share them, so he went to his own instead, resolving to wake early.

Dean made a fairly undignified noise when he pushed his door open to reveal Castiel as a dark shape beneath his covers. He shut the door behind him quickly and slammed the bolt into place. 

“Annael tells me that I must go to Edoras tomorrow,” Castiel said, as though they had been deep in conversation for awhile. “Your king is concerned that we travelled here first instead of paying him homage.”

“Yes, well,” Dean said. “It is customary -”

“She says I must bow and scrape and swear him my service,” Castiel continued.

Dean swallowed a laugh. He sounded like a sullen child. “I suppose that means you will have to go, then,” he teased, lighting some of the lamps in his room. 

Castiel hummed and tugged him forward by the hand when he was finished. He examined his fingers and wrist closely, as though they were worthy of intense speculation. “How can I swear to him when my heart belongs to another?” He asked. He placed their fingers together and surveyed the way they lined up, twisting them this way and that as though he hadn’t just made Dean’s heart flutter.

“It’s a formality. He just -” Castiel sucked three of his fingers into his mouth and Dean’s voice cracked and he stuttered to a halt. He laved at them over and over, and it felt as though Dean had forgotten how to do anything but stand there and watch and feel his tongue on the pads of his fingers.

They exited Castiel’s mouth with one more wet slide and a pop. “Yes, this will serve,” Castiel said, flinging the sheets off to reveal his already naked body. Surprised enough already, Dean groaned when Castiel drew his hand down and placed his fingers against an already slick hole. “You -” Dean panted. “You waited in here and -”

“Yes,” Castiel hissed, arching his back when Dean pressed inside. “Yes,” he moaned again when Dean began to spread him open. “Melamin _ ,  _ please.”

Dean had never shed his clothes so quickly. Had he not been aroused at Castiel lying in his bed, the idea of him waiting in the dark, pressing his fingers inside himself in anticipation would have been enough.

Castiel groaned and spread his legs when the bed dipped, making room for Dean as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Dean bent down to kiss him and pulled at him with frantic hands. “Are you sure?” He asked against Castiel’s lips. “It can be uncomfortable.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathed. “ _ Amin mela lle.  _ I’m sure.”

Dean sighed with relief - truly, he did not know how he could stop now - and lined them up, beginning the slow press inside. 

It was good, so good that Dean knew he was ruined for all others. Nothing would ever compare to this moment, to Castiel’s hands around his neck, to his low moan, to the way he was overwhelmingly tight and welcoming at the same time. “I didn’t know what love was until I met you,” Dean told him, as he waited for him to relax. Castiel whimpered at that and tightened his grip on Dean’s hair, but loosened where they were joined. Dean began to grind into him, small circles to let him get used to the sensation.

“You’re being so - so gentle,” Castiel said, breath hitching.

“Mmm,” Dean agreed, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s temple.

“I don’t want you to be,” Castiel said. “I want to - to feel you on the ride tomorrow, carry your bruises on my skin.” He groaned when Dean’s hips jumped at that, driving into him deeper. 

For a moment Dean thought about that, about setting a frantic pace and pounding into him harshly. He dug his fingers into Castiel’s hips hard enough to bruise and bit at the lobe of his ear, relishing the moan that came with it; then he gentled his grip and pulled back to place a slow kiss on Castiel’s lips. “No,” he whispered. “It is my turn to have my way with you, and I am going to take you apart slowly. I want you to unravel so completely that the only word you can say is my name as you beg me for release.”

Castiel's eyes flashed and he writhed beneath him, snapping up his hips to drive the pace but Dean didn’t let him. He pulled Castiel’s legs over his shoulders and thrust into him deep and slow. Castiel pulled at him with his hands but Dean didn’t let himself be moved. “Let me,” he urged. He turned Castiel’s face up for a kiss and when Castiel bit at his lips he didn’t respond in kind. He kept his kisses firm and slow until Castiel began to follow his lead, melting into Dean’s movements.

“Dean,” he whispered. “Dean.”

“That’s it,” Dean whispered back. “Let me take care of you.”

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut when Dean began to move with more intent. He sped up but kept his thrusts deep, probing to find the spot he knew would drive Castiel mad. It took him a while to find it, so long that he began to wonder whether he should stop trying to find it in an elf, but Castiel cried out suddenly and Dean grinned.

He aimed for that spot, finally letting his thrusts grow firm enough to satisfy. Castiel carded his hands through his hair, groaning his name every few thrusts. His own release was building, so Dean took pity on him and held his hand up to Castiel’s face. “Get this wet for me, Cas,” he urged.

Castiel was lost to the world, though, head tilted back and away, chest heaving, and he didn’t open his eyes or otherwise respond.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Castiel.” Then a thought struck him, something that he had heard Castiel say many times. “ _ Melamin _ ,” he said, tongue heavy and awkward around the foreign syllables. Castiel’s eyes flew open though, and he heaved out a breath with such intensity that it sounded more like a sob. When he saw Dean’s hand he licked at it clumsily. 

It only took a handful of strokes before he spilled his release between them, all of his body tightening, from his entrance to the hands at the back of Dean’s neck. Dean gasped and for the next few moments shoved into him harshly until he too, came.

He pulled out as soon as he was able and collapsed onto the bed beside Castiel. Dean could not remember when he had last spent so much energy to satisfy a partner, and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Beside him, Castiel seemed similarly spent. 

“I wonder,” Castiel said when the lamps began to gutter and Dean was very close to sleep. “If you will ever stop surprising me.”

His voice, always deep and full of friction, was even more so. Dean smiled. “Hope not,” he said, and drifted off to sleep with his hand over Castiel’s own.

*

 

Watching him ride off the next day with Theodred was difficult, but Dean had his memories to assuage his ache at watching him go. At Castiel slipping out of his bed in the early hours of the morning and kissing him, of him running his fingers through Dean's hair and promising to come back as soon as he was able. Dean had said  _I love you_ one more time, and Castiel had smiled, touched Dean's cheek. "Don't ask me to say that in your language," he had said. "It doesn't do my feelings justice."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean expected the wait for Castiel to return to be unmanageable, but in the end he had so much to do that he didn’t have time to dwell on his friend's absence. A few days after he left, Dean took a small group of men with him to convey the command tent back to Winchester. It took over a week since the turn of winter was truly upon them, but they reached the top of the mountain with no more trouble than the slight delay. 

Bobby was overjoyed to see him, and took on the task of recording the story of the campaign. Dean spent a few days in his company, relating the victory as Bobby stained his fingers with ink. In the time it took, several villages made their way to his halls, and Dean was relieved to hear that they had escaped raids from the goblins.

When Dean finished his tale, he told Bobby that he was going to go back to the Roadhouse this winter. Bobby frowned at him through his beard. 

“There is much work to be done,” Dean said. “Our fighting in the halls did damage to the interior.”

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d be eager to be involved with that,” Bobby said.

Dean shrugged. “It has to be done.” When Bobby continued to frown at him, he crossed his arms and added, “You are more than capable of running things here, and I -”

“There’s something else,” Bobby said.

Dean shifted under his gaze and looked down at the ground. “Bobby -”

“I know you better than anybody,” Bobby interrupted. Dean refused to raise his eyes and Bobby sighed. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “But don’t think I can’t tell when you’re hiding something.”

Dean cleared his throat. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said.

Bobby patted him on the back. “I know boy,” he said. “I know.”

 

*

 

When Dean returned to the Roadhouse it was much improved from when he left. The air in the corridors was less foul, and there were stockpiles of wood in the keep, ready to be put to use in repairs. Sam greeted him with a smile and a hammer, and set him to work. 

A few days after his return Annael announced that she needed to return to Rivendell to inform her people about what had happened. Dean was outside the walls overseeing the gathering of timber, and by the time he returned she was already in her final stages of preparation for her departure. He found her in the stables, packing her saddlebags.

“Are you sure you want to leave now?” he asked. 

Annael's hands didn't pause in their work. “Yes,” she said. “If I do not leave soon, winter will make my journey long and difficult.”

“Do you need an escort?” Dean asked, thinking of the maps stretched out over Sam’s table, the proximity of the Misty Mountains to Rivendell. If goblins were making their way south as Annael went north, their paths would have no choice but to cross. “I could send a few men with you. Sam I know would be happy to go.”

At that Annael turned to him and smiled. “It is very kind of you to offer,” she said. “But I will be safe enough by myself, and travel faster for it.”

“What should I tell Cas when he returns?” Dean asked. “He worried for you, when we found the Roadhouse besieged. He will not be pleased that you are gone.”

Annael’s smile fell and she tilted her head curiously. It was very like her cousin, and Dean swallowed hard. “I have already asked Ellen to pass on a message for me,” she said. 

“Oh.”

“You must be very perceptive,” she continued. “To pick up on what Castiel was feeling.” She put the slightest of emphasis on the last two syllables of Castiel’s name, and Dean flushed when he realized he left them off. “He is notoriously solemn.”

“Oh,” Dean said again, for want of anything better.

“Don’t -” she began before shaking her head and cutting herself off. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Winchester,” she said instead, dismissal clear in her voice, but not entirely unkind. Dean left, feeling like he had failed some sort of test.

The strange feeling hung around and made Dean eager to see Castiel again. He was outside the walls of the keep at the head of a train of villagers on their way to the Roadhouse when Castiel's shape appeared on the road. He spurred his horse forward to meet him, and tried not to look overly pleased. Still, he could not prevent the wide smile that broke out across his face when he drew near.

“You’ve returned,” Dean called.

Castiel watched him as he approached, reining in his horse. “I have,” he acknowledged, looking at the line of villagers, with their hand-drawn carts filled with supplies.

“I’m bringing them to the Roadhouse,” Dean explained. “You should ride with us.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’m eager to rest.” He turned his horse down the road. 

“I’ll find you later,” Dean promised. Castiel nodded once and kicked his horse into motion. Dean spent the rest of his ride fidgeting in his seat, begrudging the slow pace he had to maintain. When they finally reached the Roadhouse, he stabled his horse as fast as possible and went to find Castiel. 

He was not in the Great Hall, and when he asked, Ellen said he had retired to his chambers, that he was tired after a long day's ride. Dean almost knocked on his door, but thought better of it. Castiel had seemed tired when they met on the road, and Dean’s enthusiasm at having him returned wasn’t going to change that. He left him to his rest, but passed the day far from restfully himself, running around the keep with far more energy than he had in the past few weeks. Sam shook his head whenever their paths crossed, but Dean ignored him.

Castiel had not reappeared at the start of dinner, which began to have Dean worried. If he did not come out by the end of the meal, he would knock on his door and ask if anything was amiss. 

A few minutes into the meal, Castiel came into the hall. Dean smiled, but Castiel didn't look his way. Instead, he walked up to Ellen and gave a short, respectful bow. “My lady,” he said. “I know I have only just returned to your halls, but I must beg leave of them. It is time I returned to my people.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sounds of food and drink, and the clatter of Dean’s stool as he upended it when he stood. Sam hissed his name and tugged on his wrist, but Dean barely felt it.

Ellen swallowed and wiped her mouth before speaking. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “You have done us a great service, and we will not forget it. You will always be welcome in my halls.”

“As you will be in mine,” Castiel said. “Despite the troubled nature of my stay, you have shown me nothing but kindness, and I will treasure your hospitality forever.”

“You can’t go,” Dean blurted out. This time people did take notice. Ellen and many others turned toward him with raised brows, and Dean gulped beneath all the scrutiny. Sam tugged on his wrist again. “I only meant -” he began. “The snows will make it difficult for you to travel, and - more goblins might come down from the mountains, and - your father sent you here to help us.”

“My father sent me here to fight, yes,” Castiel said, turning to face him for the first time since his entrance. His expression was placid, unreadable. “But he also sent me here to gather information, which I must relay to him.”

“Annael has already left to bring him word,” Dean said.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Dean should have found relief in that familiar movement, but instead he felt dread. “There is no reason,” Castiel said slowly, every word loud and heavy with finality. “For me to stay.”

Dean stared. Castiel nodded to him. “Lord Winchester,” he said. He turned to Ellen and bowed. “My lady.” With that he left the hall, and Dean reeling as everything seemed to crumble around him. 

The noise of men eating picked up, and Dean sat down numbly as Sam hurried to right his seat. “Dean?” he asked.

Dean stared at the table, trying not to remember the way Castiel looked at him, cold and uncaring and nothing like Dean had grown used to. He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. 

Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. “Dean?” he asked again. 

“I don’t -” Dean began. His voice cracked and he tried again. “I don’t understand.”

Sam took him by the arm and led him out of the hall, past Dean’s rooms and into his own. Dean swayed as he watched him light the lamps. As children they had shared these rooms, until Sam was old enough to sleep on his own and Dean moved into the smaller rooms next door. Dean had been privy to all the changes Sam made to them over the years and had even helped make them, but as he looked around everything looked unfamiliar. He walked to the window and looked out into the darkness. 

Sam finished lighting the lamps and cleared his throat, shuffled some of the papers around on his table. Dean took a deep breath. “You must be pleased,” he said. His voice sounded as hollow as his chest felt. “You were right.” Tears stung in his eyes and he pressed his fingers into them, glad he was facing away from his brother. Sam undoubtedly knew what he was doing anyway. “You’re always right.”

“I don’t care about that,” Sam said, so sharply that Dean turned around. His arms were folded and he was frowning. “I want you to be happy. He - he made you happy.” 

“Well,” Dean started. He did not know where to go from there. 

“Dean,” Sam said softly. “Go talk to him.”

A laugh cracked out of Dean’s throat. “No.”

Sam sighed, and when he spoke every word was measured, careful. “You told me he loved you.” Dean looked away at the painful reminder. “I didn’t see that. But I saw that he was - different. With you. Maybe you could just see him more clearly.”

“You heard him tonight,” Dean said. “That was clear enough.”

“I don’t know what that was,” Sam said. “But even I could tell it was strange. And even if it was true, do you really want your last memory of him to be the way he betrayed you in public?”

Dean knew he didn’t want to face Castiel, but he also knew he would never forgive himself if he did not confront him. Sam would know him to be a coward, and even if he did not hold it against him Dean would know it in himself. 

When he reached Castiel’s door he shoved it open hard enough to smack against the wall with a satisfying sound. Castiel looked up from where he was packing his things and ducked his head just as quickly. “Lord Winchester.”

“So,” Dean said. Facing Castiel he felt his unhappiness flare into anger, and he didn’t bother trying to keep it out of his voice. “We’re back to that.”

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asked. 

“I just came to see if this meant anything to you at all,” Dean said.

“Of course it didn’t,” Castiel said, continuing to pack.

“Of course not,” Dean said. “So all those words you gasped out on the back of my neck were… words of freindship. Or were they insults? Look at this stupid human, so trusting, so willing to believe that this is special, when all I want is a place to stick my cock.” Castiel’s hands had stopped moving. Dean stared at them, wondering what it meant, knowing that the hurt he felt was too strong for him to figure it out. “Is that what I was, for you? A convenient hole, always there when you wanted?”

“Don’t -” 

“I’ll admit,” Dean cut him off. “I’ll admit that at the beginning I wouldn’t have minded. I didn’t know you that well, and you use that cock of yours well enough that it didn’t matter.”

“Dean, please,” Castiel began.

“What I don’t understand is why you encouraged me to - to love you.” Dean said. His voice was shaking. “Why did you - you made me think you loved me. Why? So you could laugh at me now that your game is over?”

“I would never -” Castiel said, sinking his hands into his bags. 

“What did they mean?” Dean demanded. “Your words? Tell me. Don’t you dare lie.”

Castiel shook his head. “Dean - “ he whispered. 

“You owe me this,” Dean said. “ _ Melamin _ . What does it mean.”

Castiel looked down at his hands. He drew a breath. “My love,” he said. “It means my love. Everything else - everything else means similar.” 

Seconds ticked by, during which Dean was capable only of listening to the sounds of their breathing. His own was unsteady, and Castiel’s matched. 

“You,” Dean said eventually. “You love me.”

Castiel didn’t nod, but he looked away. The movement was clear enough. 

“Cas,” Dean began. “I don’t understand, what happened to you, did - did Theodred say something? Theoden?”

Castiel barked out an ugly laugh. It was so unexpected that Dean rocked back on his heels. “Theoden,” he asked incredulously. “Why would you listen to him?”

“He’s old,” Castiel said to his bedspread, which was the most non-sensical thing Dean had heard in his life.

“So?”

“So?” Castiel shouted. He flung his pack across the room, the contents spilling out onto the floor. He whirled to face Dean, chest heaving and eyes wild. “He’s old, Dean. He’s sixty and at the end of his life and I -” His gaze raked over Dean, and his expression turned devastated. He turned away and braced himself on the table. 

“Oh,” Dean said. His anger rushed out and was replaced by guilt. He should have known - he spent all that time worrying about their differences and never considered this.

“It’s not that I don’t -” Castiel began. “But I -”

“You don’t want to watch me die,” Dean finished for him. 

Castiel made a small, defeated noise.

Dean watched his back, the slim, clean lines that defined him. He forgot, sometimes, that Castiel was shorter, more slender, a bit smaller in every way. He held himself so confidently and carried himself so strongly that the slight difference between them didn't show. He didn’t look strong or confident now. Dean ached to hold him, but held back. “You should go,” he said instead, even though it hurt. “I understand.”

Castiel didn’t move. 

“I won’t even see you off tomorrow,” Dean promised. “Goodbye.”

He went back his room. Thankfully, he didn’t run into anyone in the halls. He closed his door, and was about to bar it, but decied to leave it open when the wood felt too heavy in his hands. He knew wishful thinking wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but shutting the door wasn’t something he was prepared to do. 

*

Dean woke in the middle of the night to his door squeaking open. He watched, bleary-eyed, as Castiel shut it and locked it behind him and slipped into his bed. He stayed on his side, facing away, so Dean tucked up behind him and took him in his arms, brushed his hair away from his face. He simply held him all night, not sleeping, until morning began to dawn. “Can I ask you something?” Dean asked. 

Castiel nodded once. 

“Would it really be better for you? If you left now? Would it really be better, if this is the end?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel whispered. 

Dean thought about that. “I want you to close your eyes,” he said, after a few minutes. “I want you to think about what you would do, if you could do anything to be happy and not worry about the consequences. And I’ll tell you mine. It’s the two of us. We’re on our way somewhere, but it doesn’t matter particularly when we get there, or even if we do.”

The silence following his statement dragged on. Dean took a deep breath before continuing. “Now you tell me yours. If it’s with your family in Rivendell, or with Annael in those houses in the trees you told me about I’ll understand, and you should go there, and I’ll be happy to know that you’re happy.”

Castiel’s hand covered his own where it was wrapped around his stomach. “It’s you,” he said. “You're the only one who can make me smile.”

Dean rolled onto his back. “Sam would make a better lord than me,” he said. “And I suppose he’ll have to be lord eventually.”

Castiel turned over to look at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not about to bear your children, sorry to say,” Dean said. “I mean, you can try all you want, I don’t mind, but… pretty sure it’s a lost cause.”

The corners of Castiel’s mouth twitched, but he still looked confused. 

Dean sighed. “I’m saying, that I’ll try to make you smile. For as long as you want me. I’ll give it all to Sam, I’ll go wherever you want.”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “You shouldn’t.” 

“I love you,” Dean said. “I’ll love you as long as I live, even if you get up and leave right now, but I’d rather do it with you beside me.”

Castiel looked at him for a long time. A few short days ago Dean would have been fighting the urge to blush, but now he was open and laid bare. There was nothing he could do until Castiel gave his answer, and he was strangely at peace with the uncertainty. 

Eventually, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over Dean’s. “Beside me, then,” he said, and smiled. It was tinged with sadness, but Dean counted it as a victory all the same.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that! Sorry again about the delay, and also about the bittersweet I threw in there at the end. I swear I tried to write just happy fun times but there was a little voice in the back of my head going "Dean's only going to live another couple of decades, can I really just end it with happy fun times?" 
> 
> Sigh. I have to get better at ignoring that voice.
> 
> Anyway let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated, etc.


End file.
